


Oromedon's Lessons

by elfscribe



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Renault
Genre: Ancient world, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slave fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfscribe/pseuds/elfscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Persian King's courtesan arrives to instruct the beautiful slave Bagoas in the art of love and finds he must first help his pupil overcome his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Glimpse into the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> The author chose to excerpt a few lines of dialogue from _The Persian Boy,_ to show where the narrative fits into the original. Excerpts are clearly indicated in _italics._  
> First posted: Nov. 26, 2004 - June 2, 2005

_"There is a pride in you, wounded but still unyielding; it is perhaps what shaped your prettiness into beauty. With such a nature, living as you have lived between your sordid master and his vulgar friends, you must have been holding back all the while. And very right. But those days are gone. There is a new existence before you. Now you must learn to give a little. I am here for that, to teach you the art of pleasure." He reached out his other hand and gently pulled me down. "Come, I promise you, you will like it much more with me."_  
‑ from _The Persian Boy_ by Mary Renault

***********************

 

I lay back, tense and still wary, looking up into Oromedon's smiling eyes. He settled down gently by my side. I flinched when his bare skin brushed mine. He was right. I associated all this with my shame; there was no delight in such a touch.

The memories waited, right behind my eyelids and now they rose up again, a discordant mass of anguish that I remembered as through a kif‑numbed haze. I recalled folds of greasy skin, an unwashed stench, and a mass of black hair harsh as wire that rasped against my cheek. He said, "Open up, boy. Take this in that sweet little mouth." When he thrust the thick flesh into my throat, I choked and then retched. There was a blow to my face, the sudden sting growing hot. "Whelp! Next time swallow it. Get out!" I fled down a narrow alley and collapsed near a pile of offal, surprising a feasting pi‑dog. It seemed I could sink no lower and I begged the gods for death. None heard me. My former master continued to send me out again and again.

My eyes stung and I turned my face to the pillow.

Oromedon did not move. When I ventured to turn back and open an eye, he was regarding me solemnly. "Gazelle Eyes," he said gently. "I understand . . . better than you know. But you must not think of it any more. That is all finished now. Believe me."

He picked up both my hands and looked at them, then interlaced his fingers in mine."Your hands are so fine, strong and yet delicate. Long fingers, a palm like a water lily. An artist's hands. Did you know that?"

I drank in his clear, light voice as if it were wine.

His lovely, dark eyes were half‑lidded, lined with kohl. The golden earrings glittered and trembled as he lowered his head to brush his nose against mine."You are beautiful, Bagoas," he said. "Ah, I see your eyes shifting away. How often you must have heard that from those apes your master sold you to." He made a face, pursing his lips as if to spit at the memory. "But you must not blame your loveliness for what he forced upon you. Your beauty is your gift from the gods; it will be your gift to your new master."

He pushed my hair away from my face several times, as a mother might soothe a child and I found myself leaning into his hand.

"The first step in learning the art," he said, "is to be confident in yourself. You must know that you are beautiful. You must feel it here," he rested his hand lightly on my temple, "and here." He flattened a warm palm against my chest over my heart.

His fingers gathered together and began swirling delicately across my skin. The touch was assured and strategic. He stroked my chest, along my collar bone, up the side of my neck. "Such grace in the arch, that of an impala." He traced along my jaw, across my cheekbones, over my brows and down along the bridge of my nose. "Perfection," he said, "in line and shape, the color, the texture, like fine porcelain. Your hair," he slid his hand under it, fanned his fingers, and let it slip through them. "Like the softest flax. And those eyes, so huge and luminous, a starry Babylonian night. I've never seen their like! Gazelle Eyes, your beauty would move an ox to poetry! And here, such sensuous lips." He ran a thumb along my top lip and then the bottom. "A slight pout that curves upward and then down and back up at the corners. Perfect for laughing," his voice dropped to a whisper, "and for kissing."

Myself, I thought I had seen no lovelier lips than his, soft and plump, like a ripe fig, stained red as with pomegranate juice.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

I had never been asked before. Always it had been forced on me, angrily, as if the taker despised his own lust. I must have nodded because in the next moment he bent his head and touched his lips to mine, delicately, like a whisper of silk, like a promise of paradise.

There he rested, barely moving, until our lips began trembling together in anticipation. Slowly, as if opening a door to a room filled with treasure, his lips parted, gently forcing mine to follow his. As my mouth opened to him, so too did my will, and I felt myself relaxing into his embrace. His tongue dipped within, brushed against my tongue, teasingly, in a soft back and forth caress. A pleasant honeyed sensation began tingling through me.

Then his mouth possessed mine. Our tongues tumbled together, our lips grasped and held, and melded into one flesh.

He tasted of sweet cloves. To this day whenever I smell that spice, I think of him and the moment when I discovered that a kiss can bring pleasure rather than disgust. It was a revelation and a release; the first glimpse of the garden of delight.

I sighed and he laughed against my mouth. "Ah yes, my lovely. You will learn to enjoy it. That I can promise you."

‑tbc‑


	2. The Hawk in the Garden

_"I did not resist persuasion. He might indeed possess some magic, by whose power all would be well. So at first it still appeared, for he was as skilled as he was charming, like a creature from another world than that I had been frequenting; it seemed one could linger forever in the outer courts of delight. I took all that was offered, neglecting my old defences; and the pain, when it swooped on me with all its claws, was worse than ever before."_  
‑_The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

The afternoon sun penetrated the vine‑covered window, sprinkling the bed in dappled splendor. A fly droned fitfully against the glass. Around us, the fine linen sheets shifted with a dry, whispering sound. Oromedon's perfume sweetened the languid air.

His lips left mine and his kisses drifted downward, pressing to my neck and my chest. He kissed slowly, then nipped my skin just hard enough for discomfort. His tongue darted out to take the sting away; he moved to a new location, and repeated the cycle. It felt as if he were waking up my skin.

He took his time, stroking up and down my arms as he went, pausing now and then to come back and kiss my mouth, as if I were the center of the world, and nothing else mattered but my pleasure. Not since my parents' death had anyone directed such loving attention toward me. Strangely, the weight of his body, intimately pressed to mine, was comforting; the feel of his stiffening penis against my hip became a source of fascination rather than disgust. Compared to my previous encounters, this was like a sojourn into a cool and fragrant garden. My bruised soul lapped up all of it.

He slid a hand behind my back. Then he did something none of the others had done; he kissed one of my nipples, gathered it into his mouth, and sucked lightly. I let out a gasp and then giggled. He raised his head, a look of amusement in his kohl‑rimmed eyes. "Are you ticklish there?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Hmm," he murmured, then began sucking again, harder this time. It was the most curious sensation, a tickling that evolved into something exotic and very pleasurable. He moved over to the right nipple, swirling his tongue around it and then drawing it into his warm mouth as he continued manipulating my left with his fingers. A little mewl escaped my lips.

He said, "You like that, I can tell, and it surprises you. You didn't know that about yourself."

"How do you know?"

"You told me." He chuckled at my puzzlement. "Part of the art is noticing your partner's reaction, all the little signs that indicate pleasure, or disgust, or indifference. This is important, for rarely will your master tell you in words what he wants. He will expect you to know his desire. So you must watch his body, which will speak for him. It is your task to read it accurately. In this case, you arched forward into my touch and made a sound of approval, your breath quickened, and you closed your eyes. And see here, what your body does?"

He leaned down and sucked harder on both nipples, teased them with his tongue, and finished by blowing on them. When I looked down, I saw that they were gathered into tight little rosettes.

"That means that either you are cold or you are aroused. Are you cold?"

"No."

He laughed. "Then you must have liked it."

Although feeling self‑conscious, I laughed a little too. His mouth curled into a secret smile.

"I can tell you, though, don't do that to your new master. He has no sensation there at all and a great deal of pride in his masculinity." Then, with a sly glance at me from under his eyelids, he bent back to his task. He slid downward, settling between my legs with a wriggle, so that now his lightly muscled chest rested on my loins, creating a curious warming sensation. He kissed along my ribs.

But despite the pleasure of feeling his mouth on my skin, I began to worry. Clearly he had intimate knowledge of my master. Why they were all being so mysterious about him? Perhaps the man had a monstrous reputation that Oromedon had to keep hidden for fear I should run away and he would be punished. I had noticed a jagged brown scar on his brow. Had my master inflicted that upon him? I told myself that Oromedon was doing no more than what he had been ordered to do: make me worthy of my master's investment. I meant nothing to him and must not forget it. I closed my eyes. Perhaps it would be better to resist my feelings, as I was used to doing, and simply endure his touches. My past had not taught me to be trusting.

I felt him pause, and then he looked up, propping his cheek on one hand. "Ahem. Where did you go just now, Gazelle Eyes?"

"What?"

"You stiffened and lost concentration. This won't do at all. You are letting me do all of the work."

"Is this work to you?" I ventured in a small voice.

His laugh was sudden and merry. "Is that your concern?" He came back up, sliding his body, which was as sleek as fine kid leather, along mine. Then he was kissing my mouth again and tumbled over once with me in his arms, so that briefly I lay on top of him. Rolling again, he settled me back down under him. "Beautiful boy," he breathed, "if this is work, may I have this job forever. Of course, I was sent here to instruct you in the art, but that doesn't keep me from enjoying it, nor should it prevent you from doing the same. Now will you stop thinking and open your senses? This isn't one‑sided, my dear. You are here to learn, that means you cannot be off somewhere in a cloud of worries."

"I'm sorry, I'll try to do better," I said, though I had no idea what better meant. So far he hadn't asked me to do anything for him. My past clients rarely had spent any time on my body, other than to run their hands all over it. Usually their requirements had been brief and rather focussed. Slowly, I was realizing that this was quite different. He seemed genuine. Even if he were lying to me, I needed to pretend that he spoke the truth.

Oromedon had resumed his place and now caressed the joint line along my hips with his fingertips, leaving behind a tingling trail. He moved from the point of my hip, dipped down along the top of my thighs, lightly brushed my shaft, which by now had stiffened up along my belly, and then drifted back up the other side.

"Do you know that the Greeks consider this part of a boy's body to be the most beautiful?" he said.

I said that I did not doubt it, considering the Greeks' reputation for liking boys.

He laughed again. "So wise for one of your tender years."

"I spent much time in the market place and I have quick ears," I replied, with some pride in my few accomplishments. "I have heard about the Greeks and their ways. It's said we may soon know more about them. Alexander's conquests at Issos and Tyre were the gossip in my late master's harem."

He made a sign against evil. "Let us hope that his army does not reach Susa."

"Well, at least if that happens, we will both have employment."

He was delighted. His dark eyes sparkled and the elaborate gold filigree earrings swung to and fro as he laughed. "You have made a joke, Gazelle Eyes!" I returned his smile. "Now then," he continued, "I see all this talk is taking away from my efforts." At this, he touched my shaft, then curled his hand snugly around it and began stroking up and down; I swallowed a gasp.

"Does this feel good?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Then you should give voice to your pleasure. That is a whole art in itself and enhances the enjoyment both for you and your partner. But of course, you want to be subtle about it, like the longing sigh of a turtle‑dove, not coarse, like a bellowing bull. Now then, let me hear you."

I inhaled sharply but could not make a sound of any sort. "I am so used to holding back that I'm afraid I can't," I admitted.

Oromedon's eyes gleamed. "Well now, we'll see about that." He leaned over to a table at the side of the bed and picked up a slender, faceted bottle. Uncorking it with his teeth, he poured some over his hand. There was a rich, nutty smell. "You will discover, my young friend, that sesame oil is good for more than cooking. Turn over."

I rolled over onto my stomach. Oromedon poured a dollop of oil onto me, spread it slightly, and then sat on my rear, moving around a bit to get comfortable. The feeling of his bare buttocks sliding against mine was exquisite. Then his hands were pushing against my back, gliding along the slippery path. As he leaned his weight hard into his hands, I groaned; it felt so good.

"That's what I want to hear, my lovely. More of that song." Soon, he was giving me the rub‑down of my life, until my muscles protested and I was moaning enough, I thought, to cause the neighbors to investigate. He slid backwards, sitting on my thighs as he began kneading my buttocks, pulling them apart gently and then pushing them together.

"By the light of lord Mithra," Oromedon said, "your rear is as lovely as the rest of you. I wish you could see it as I can, glistening with the oil. I look forward to enjoying it. You could perhaps put on a little more weight. We'll attend to that. There is a good dinner waiting for you, once we're done here. Now, if you please, my dear, turn back over."

I did so and he poured more oil into his hand and then applied the same firm touch to my member, stroking up and down, then rolling his hand around it. I was now so relaxed and ready to feel pleasure that I gave myself up to his ministrations, allowing little cries of delight to spill from my lips. "Yes, yes, that's it," he was saying.

He dipped his head down and ran his tongue up one side of my stiffened flesh and down the other, then brought his supple mouth down over it and began applying a series of movements that I recognized as practiced and extremely skillful. I had never experienced anything like it. First came a swirling and vibrating of the tongue about the head and then a swift downward movement with a small twist that completely engulfed me. He began slowly, then in concert with my increasing noise, moved faster and faster. A hot feeling grew within, rapidly spread, and soon I was perched on the verge of an ecstatic leap that I hadn't felt since I had experimented with myself as a child. I had thought the slave‑trader's knife had killed all that in me.

At that moment I felt it again, a pain as sharp and sudden as a hawk stooping on its prey. It seemed that the cruel blade was again sawing into my flesh, like being burned by ice and fire. I cried out, tears starting into my eyes. For a moment I couldn't breathe, and when I finally opened my eyes, Oromedon was looking at me gravely. I heard myself apologizing to him. He had been so intent on giving me pleasure and I had spoiled it.

_"But what is it?" He bent over me as if he were really concerned. "I cannot have hurt you surely?"_

_"No, of course." I turned my eyes to the sheet to blot my tears. "It always happens like that, if it does at all. As if they brought back the knives."_

_"But you should have told me this." He still spoke as if he cared, which to me was wonderful._

_"I thought it was the same with us all ‑ with all people like me."_

_"No indeed. How long ago were you cut?"_

_"Three years," I said, "and a little more."_

Oromedon examined me carefully with gentle, probing fingers and declared that the work was as fine as any he'd seen. He couldn't understand why I shouldn't be capable of enjoying sex as much as any of us can. I found his concern comforting. Here, for the first time since my former life had been cut away, was someone who had shared my dreadful experience and understood, someone in whom I could confide. It seemed that I wasn't so alone in the world after all.

My mentor pondered the problem from several angles as he continued to caress my arm in consolation. His touch was soothing and I did not discourage him, even though the pain had gone.  
Finally he said,_ "It is clear enough what it is. You have fine senses; for pleasure certainly, for pain therefore as much. Though gelding is bad enough for anyone, there are degrees of feeling. It has haunted you ever since, as if it could happen again. That's not so rare; you'd have got over it long ago, with me. But you have been going with men you despised. Outwardly you had to obey; within, your pride has conceded nothing. You have preferred pain to a pleasure by which you felt degraded. It comes of anger and the soul's resistance."_

"I didn't resist you."

"I know. But it has bitten deep; it won't be cured in a day. Later we'll try again, it's too soon now."

Then he told me that where I was going it would not trouble me. I couldn't make any sense of that. Instead a new longing had welled up in my heart.

_"I wish," I said, "I might belong to you."_

"I too, Gazelle Eyes. But you are for my betters. So don't fall in love with me; we shall be parting all too soon."

He climbed out of the great bed that already seemed like home and put on his clothes. I followed, with my heart in my mouth. So much had changed in a short time. I could not bear the idea that he was leaving so soon; but I dared not say so.

"Your dinner will be here shortly," he was saying, "but I must leave before that. I have other obligations to fulfill."

"Are you coming back tomorrow?" I asked, as he settled his tall hat onto his fine black curls.

"Oh most certainly, in the morning. We have a lot of work to do still, you and I. So don't sleep too late." I imagine that I must have looked at him mournfully, for he ruffled my hair, then held my chin and gave me another kiss. "Come, you may escort me out."

As we went through the overgrown garden, he talked of small matters that I really didn't hear. The sound of his voice was enough. We reached the back gate, which was wrought of heavy iron and much smaller than the impressive bronzed ones that stood at the front of the house. He went through it, turned and waved at me, then strode purposefully down the dusty alley, his long coat billowing slightly behind him. The gate clanged shut, leaving me on the wrong side of it. I stood and watched him go, with a strange tightening in my breast.


	3. A Handsome Gift

_"My training took some time longer. He came earlier, dispensed with the haughty eunuch, and taught me himself the service of the table, the fountain court, the inner chamber, the bath; he even brought a fine horse, and in the weed‑grown courtyard showed me how to mount and ride with grace . . ."_  
‑_The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

His touch tingled between my legs and I purred in delight, allowing myself to make the sounds he wanted to hear. His body was warm against my back; soft lips brushed along my neck. I couldn't understand the words he murmured, but they made me happy, nevertheless. I only knew that I wanted to please him. I turned my hips slightly, making room for his questing fingers. Perhaps this time, I thought, just perhaps, it will all be better.

"My beautiful brave warrior," he breathed.

I noticed a Greek helmet resting on the bed next to me; a long black horsetail flowed from the crest and pooled over the sheets. I stared into its empty eyes, feeling the approach of some destiny, like thudding footsteps.

As I pulled my gaze away, I realized that something wasn't right. Coarse hair rasped across my face. There was a stench. Rough hands held me down and a wrinkled, worm‑like organ was pressing against my lips. I heard a deep voice. "Take it in, boy! Open that pretty mouth." I choked and spat, then in desperation, wrenched myself free. Where had Oromedon gone? Had he abandoned me? Was I to go back to Datus the jeweler? I would sooner die.

I raised my eyes to the door and started violently. Standing there was a huge man with a gaping red hole in the middle of his face where his nose should have been; blood dripped down over his lips. His eyes burned as he pointed a shaking finger at me. "Whore! For shame! You are no son of mine!"

I tried to cry out but couldn't find my voice. My heart thundered in my breast as my eyes flew open and I found myself awake in a strange, dark room.

Disoriented, I sat up. The pre‑dawn light rendered everything in shades of unearthly grey. I felt half dead with fright and so very cold. Was my father's ghost still here, watching me, judging my actions? It had seemed so real. He had been right there, standing in the doorway.

Shakily, I reached to the little stool at the foot of my bed and found my trousers. I pulled them on and then my sleeveless tunic. I rose and peered out of my little room into the larger one adjacent, which was my training ground. It seemed more friendly, if only from the memory of Oromedon's presence.

Shuffling footsteps sounded outside the door that led to the rest of the house and I watched in horror as the curved handle slowly moved downward. The door opened abruptly with a creak, revealing a large shadowy figure on the other side. I let out a gasp.

Then Majeed, the officious eunuch who had brought me here, entered, carrying a tray laden with a covered dish, a steaming pot, and cups. He looked at me in disgust. "What's wrong with you, eh boy?"

I could feel my body relax and then begin trembling, but I wasn't about to let him see it. I shrugged, fighting to keep my voice normal. "You startled me, that's all. What are you doing here so early?"

"Did Oromedon not tell you he would be here in the morning?" Majeed snorted. He set the tray on the table.

"Yes, but not this early."

"It is better not to question but to adapt to things as they are," Majeed said. He clapped his hands twice. "Quickly, go and wash your face and finish dressing. I will run you through your table work before he gets here."

He bustled about, straightening things, plumping pillows, and then opening the shutters wide to admit the rapidly increasing light, while I stood awkwardly for a moment, and then hastened to do as he bid. The thought that Oromedon soon would arrive banished the night fears.

I wasn't long about serving Majeed the breakfast, when we heard a bright whistling in the distance. I paused in pouring out the thick hot tea, a wide smile leaping to my face. It must be him!

Majeed looked at me and frowned. "You need better focus than that, Bagoas," he said. "You must fix all your attention on your task, however menial you think it." He got up and opened the door, then glanced back at me as the happy warbling came in louder from the garden. "It's rude to whistle," he said. "No well-trained eunuch should do it. You can tell Oromedon that I said so. Ah hmmm, it looks as if he's got a surprise for you."

I did not care what grumpy old Majeed thought of me. A surprise! I set down the pot carefully, then flew to the door to see.

Oromedon looked up as I came out and gave me his brilliant white smile, which I returned. Ah, he was handsome! His long curly hair was bound up in a knot at the back of his head which showed his dangling gold earrings to good advantage. He was wearing purple trousers and a fancy cream‑colored coat with silver threads that sparkled in the rising light. Most wondrous of all, he was leading a tall chestnut horse with a flaxen mane and tail and wearing a crimson saddle‑cloth. Oromedon came to a stop.

"Good morning, Gazelle Eyes."

I ran over to him. He took my chin in hand, tilted it upward, and gave me a quick kiss. I fairly glowed at the feeling of his lips on mine.

"Oh Oromedon, he is beautiful! Is he yours?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed. This is my friend, Kaveh. You can pet him. Go on." I ran my hand over the horse's proudly arching neck, feeling the hard muscles under his silky coat. The horse shook the tassels on his bridle, then jerked up his head, ears pricked forward, and peered intently off in the distance.

"He has something in common with us," Oromedon said.

"What is that?"

"He is a gelding, but that does not make him any less spirited."

I laughed. Everything seemed well now that Oromedon was here. My dark dreams were forgotten in the sunshine of his charm.

"Why did you bring him?"

"Well, why do you think? All well‑bred Persians must know how to ride, and that goes double where you are going. Besides," he lowered his voice, "it'll develop muscles where you need them, in your legs and backside." He gave me a gentle slap on the rear. "Come on, young apprentice." He cupped his hands together and bowed down. I put my foot into his hands and he vaulted me up onto the broad back.

From up there I felt so tall and powerful. It was wondrous. I looked back toward the house to see Majeed standing in the doorway, with a faintly disapproving look on his dark face.

"Do you need anything more, Oromedon?" he called.  
"Have the bath brought up in a couple of hours, and then in the early afternoon bring the lunch I ordered yesterday," Oromedon said. "That is all for now."

"Very good." Majeed bowed stiffly and left.

A sudden breeze caused some leaves to skitter across the paving stones in the courtyard and Kaveh jumped sideways. I was nearly unseated but managed to hang onto his neck.

"Whoa, Kaveh, steady," Oromedon crooned. "Good, Bagoas, you have quick reflexes. Have you ridden before?"

"Just a pony when I was growing up."

"That's a start. Now then, sit up straight and sink your weight down from your hips, through your knees, all the way to your ankles. Not so tight. Relax your lower legs. Let your feet dangle. Good. You are right handed, are you not? Yes, then take the reins through your left hand like this, wrap your fingers about them, thumb up, let the excess hang down to your right. Learn to use your left hand to guide him, in case you need to hold a weapon in your right. Pull them up snug. Can you feel his mouth?" Indeed, through the leather reins, I could feel Kaveh chewing the bit. I nodded.

"Your hands control his front and your legs his back half. You want to get them to work together. Now then, click your tongue like this. At the same time squeeze your legs against him, gently, or he'll jump out from under you, relax your hand, and let him walk on."

I did so and was delighted to have this great beast obey me. Soon, Oromedon had me trotting about the huge, overgrown garden. As he had promised, I could feel the pull on my thigh muscles as I gripped them about the horse. We worked on my form for quite a while and by the time he finally called a halt, the sun had risen three handspans from the horizon.

"Excellent," he called, "you have good balance. You will make a fine horseman in no time." I rode back over to Oromedon and slid off Kaveh's side. I had forgotten what a long drop it was. My legs felt shaky as I hit the ground, but I smiled up at Oromedon.

"Thank you," I said, breathlessly. My face was flushed in the rising heat.

"Good to feel such power between your legs, is it not?" Oromedon said, smiling. "Now remember what that feels like and take that feeling with you everywhere, particularly into bed." He looked at me through his eyelashes in that sly way he had.

I laughed and nodded, feeling myself blush with more than the heat. "Where did you get him?" I asked, stroking Kaveh's shoulder.

"He was given to me by our master. A handsome gift, don't you think?"

"Truly, it was," I replied.

He looked at me meaningfully and I realized what he was doing. He seemed to be saying that anyone who would give a gift like this must be a fine person. It was an attempt to allay my fears. I was rapidly learning that he didn't do anything without a purpose. A seemingly innocent arrival with a horse had layers of reasoning behind it.

I was burning up with questions and opened my mouth to ask them, but his suddenly veiled expression said, 'no more will I tell you.'

Then Kaveh shoved Oromedon with his nose causing him to stumble forward. He straightened up and turned to regard the horse. "You are a pig for attention," he scolded. The horse lowered his head as if in remorse and Oromedon laughed. The sound was infectious, a musical chuckle that bubbled up like a spring. I couldn't keep from laughing myself.

"Are you jealous of my new charge, Kaveh?" he said. "So sorry, but I'm going to have to spend more time with him. He has quite a bit to learn still, just like you." He rubbed the horse's nose gently, then pulled the bridle off his head. The horse gave up the bit with a soft clunk of teeth against metal and immediately bent his head to pull at some weeds. Oromedon hung the bridle on a peg in the latticed porch. "He can wander about in the garden here. Let's go inside, before it gets any hotter." He ran a finger under my chin and smiled into my eyes. I felt a warm tingle in my groin.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he said and lifted a woven bag that had hung across the horse's back and slung it over his shoulder.

"What is it?" I asked eagerly

He gave me a gentle rap on the head with his knuckle. "You'll find out later, Nosy."

When we went inside, I could see that Majeed had been busy. There was a long bathtub filled with tepid water. A tray next to it contained sponges, a soft cloth, a lump of soap, a pumice stone, and several bottles. "Now then, roll up your sleeves, Gazelle Eyes, it's time to learn the ritual of the bath," Oromedon pronounced. He set the bag down by the wall.

From fear of ruining my clothes, I took off my coat and tunic and worked bare chested. Although I felt awkward at first, Oromedon's constant chatter and encouragement soon put me at ease. I divested him of his garments and then held out a large towel while pretending to avert my eyes as he stepped into the tub. However, I couldn't help but look at him. He was sleek and graceful as a cat. The only hair on his body was a scattering of light brown silk on his legs and along his forearms. He bade me undo the silver clip in the form of a butterfly that held back his hair and now it hung down in long black ringlets past his shoulders.

I washed and oiled his hair and he taught me to use my fingers to massage his scalp. It was easy to put my hands on him, to rub that magnificent body gently with a soaped sponge, yet strange to explore a body so like my own. When I reached into the water to wash between his legs, I skirted around his penis. He clicked his tongue, took my hand firmly and guided it directly down."Treat it with respect but don't be afraid of it," he said softly. He pressed my hand to his shaft and I, not knowing what else to do, began to explore it with my fingers, then wrapped my hand about it and stroked lightly. He sighed and I could feel him rising under my touch.

"Anything can become a sensual experience: a bath, a meal, an early morning ride," he said. "You are to become the choreographer of that delight, directing and creating an oasis of pleasure for your master. Washing this area needn't be perfunctory but an opportunity for a light caress. But no more or you'll find yourself joining your master in the tub, and performing certain activities under water is rather difficult, an advanced lesson." He laughed and released my hand. He had become quite hard. I was smiling too. I knew he was teasing me.

"I'm not sure, Master Oromedon, that this fits within the boundaries of propriety," I said.

"You noticed, eh?" he said. "I try not to take my work too seriously. There is room for play," he looked at me with those lovely, kohl‑rimmed eyes, "and for affection," he said.

My heart did a little dance. Impulsively, I leaned down and kissed him, just a brief press of my lips to his. When I tried to draw away, he arched back his neck, reached up, and splaying his fingers against the back of my head, pulled me down to him. The kiss became a tender movement of soft lips, an exchange of sighs, a song of beauty. Then, as he opened his mouth and his tongue sought mine, it grew into a heated expression of lust. I thought I would become delirious from pleasure. The movement of lips and tongue seemed to be turning my vague feelings of affection into something palpable that I could feel thrumming throughout my body. I was a butterfly newly burst free of the chrysalis and spreading my pumping wings.

When he finally let me go, both of us were breathing hard.

Leaning his head back against the lip of the tub, he closed his eyes. "I am in danger of forgetting myself," he said, quietly. "Best we finish up now, Bagoas, and go on to the next lesson. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, quite," I said in a low voice.

He understood my meaning. The tip of his tongue touched his upper lip as he regarded me with a curiously wistful expression.

"Avert your eyes and hold the towel out for me. Never look at your master as he is getting in and out of the bath," he said, almost sharply.

I did as he said and heard the rush of water when he stood. But as I was toweling him down, my hand came to rest on the elongated evidence of his arousal. This time, from my position kneeling before him, it was I who looked up at him slyly.


	4. Savouring the Taste

_"But where are the cushions and the low wine table? He must learn how to serve the inner room." The other glanced up at him. "Oh yes," he said, laughing softly, his gold earrings twinkling, "we can be sure of that."_  
_The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

Oromedon rested his hand gently on my head as I knelt before him. "Gazelle Eyes," he murmured. The tone said both yes and no. I couldn't tell which impulse was stronger but he was lengthening even more under my caress. I moved my hands around to cup the firm curve of his backside; felt the muscles tighten and then relax. I leaned forward so that he could feel my breath tickling along his skin. He smelled like desire.

"You don't have to do this now," he said.

"I want to."

It was true. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more in the world than to please him. I wanted to draw him into my mouth and move in enticing ways until he said that no one had ever done it better, until he begged for relief, until he had no words left, only anguished cries of pleasure. It was a strange feeling. Just days earlier if anyone had said that I would be here on my knees wanting nothing so badly as to take a man's organ into my mouth, I would have replied that such a thing was impossible. I had felt only loathing for this act; but then, I had never experienced such a quivering in my soul before.

"Not yet," he said. "Later, when we're in bed, I'll give you formal instruction . . . "

"Instruct me now; tell me what you want," I said.

His eyes were moonlit pools, his expression soft and needy. I ran the tip of my tongue up his length. He inhaled a shuddering breath and petted my hair. Encouraged, I continued stroking him with my tongue. His shaft was like a temple column, straight, slender, tapering toward the crown. The delicate skin at the head had rolled back under my ministrations to expose the pink interior. He was still damp from the bath. Without waiting for his reply, which, for once, he seemed to be hesitating about, I grasped him gently, opened my mouth, and with a quick lunge, took him in.

Oromedon moaned and sagged back against the edge of the tub. "Oh, that's good, just right."

For a while, he only made an occasional murmur as I worked him up and down as well as I knew how. Then he said, "Not so fast; it's not a race. Savour it." He seemed to be struggling to regain control. His breathing became quicker; his hips thrust gently toward me. I could tell that it was pleasurable for him. My smile threatened my effectiveness and I set about business again, slowing my movements.

"If you swirl your tongue just under the head, it is . . . oh yes, like that," he groaned. After a while longer he said, "curl your tongue around and make the suction stronger. Yes. Now, take it as deeply as you can. Open your throat. That's right. Oh blessed Mithra, Bagoas!"

That was the end of his verbal instructions but his body continued speaking most eloquently. He twisted his fingers in my hair and gave himself up to a rhythmic, sighing dance. His hips began flexing more quickly, a silent plea to increase the pace, which I did. Now, the sighs grew heavier with a breathy moan at the end of each. It was music to my ears. I worked my mouth as if I wanted to swallow him whole and could feel the beginnings of a convulsive motion along his shaft.

"You could pull off now . . . you don't have to," he panted, "I'm going to. . . ! " He gave a wrenching cry, at the same time he pushed hard into my mouth and released.

The pulsing motion and the deeper thrust were an unfortunate combination and I found myself gagging, just as I had so many times before. I managed to stop it before disgracing myself. I pulled my mouth up to the tip and stilled the rippling in my belly while the thin briny‑sweet liquid spurted up and spread about my mouth. I liked his taste. It was more delicate than anyone I had tasted before. I managed to swallow all and began slowly licking him clean with long strokes, vowing to do better next time. Even so, something within me sang that I had undone him, if only for a moment.

Still breathing hard, he shuddered and stroked my hair. "You were good," he managed to say, "Thank you. But enough now. It's tender." I sat back and looked up at him. He said, "I didn't expect you to know so much."

"I did learn a few things in my former employment, if only in self‑preservation."

His eyes held a melancholy tenderness as he reached down and cupped my cheek in his hand.

At that moment there was a rap on the door and before we could reply, it opened. I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around Oromedon's waist. His head swivelled around, a look of annoyance darkening his lovely features.

Majeed was backing into the room with a huge tray, apparently having used his elbow to push down the handle. The little Egyptian slave followed, carrying a wine flagon and a basket covered with a cotton napkin. Majeed turned gracefully and kicked the door shut with his heel.

"It's only polite to wait for a reply before one enters a room," Oromedon said evenly.

"Forgive me, Oromedon. I didn't mean to interrupt your . . . work. I waited until the time seemed appropriate, but the dishes were rather heavy." Majeed's mouth had just a suggestion of a smirk; enough to be irritating, without being disrespectful. I thought it must take years to cultivate such facial control. The Egyptian slave was not so careful; his expression was openly lustful.

Embarrassed, I wondered how long they had been listening outside the door, and exactly how much noise we had made. I could imagine the spectacle Oromedon and I presented: he wearing nothing but his golden earrings and the towel which barely covered his groin, his lustrous black hair curling in damp ringlets over his shoulders; and I kneeling in front of him, clad only in my wet and clinging white cotton trousers. Not too unpleasant a view, I expect, if you like that sort of thing.

Majeed moved over to the table and began setting the dishes out. "Lunch is here, precisely when you ordered it," he said.

"I didn't ask you to set them out," Oromedon replied, in a dangerous purr. "Bagoas will serve me. Your effort is appreciated, Majeed. Thank you."

"Of course," Majeed said and bowed, then popped the slave on the back of the head with his open palm, so that he quickly bowed too. (He had been looking his fill at us, most disrespectfully.) Then they were out the door.

I stood up.

"Majeed never misses an opportunity to put me in my place," Oromedon said. "Ever since that matter with the bribe."

"What matter?"

"Never mind just now." Then he suddenly laughed. "Well, I imagine they got an eyeful. I swear, that Egyptian looked like dog‑headed Anubis with his tongue hanging out."

"I think they got an earful as well, Oromedon, before they even came in. You were not discreet in your appreciation."

"No, I suppose not, you wicked boy." He let the towel fall as he reached for me and pulled me close to his warm chest. For a moment, he stared into my eyes and then gave me a resounding kiss. "Anyone would drool over you, Beautiful," he said, "You are magnificent and have the makings of an artist, I can tell already. No one will be able to resist you when I'm done. Now, then, where are my pants?"

His praise caused my heart to thump with joy but I did not own it. I found his purple trousers on the clothes stool and held them out as he put them on. I reached for his tunic, but he shook his head and gave me his sly smile. "Why put on more clothes, when we will just be taking them off again in a while? Come now, you said you were hungry."

"Do you wish me to serve you here or at the low table?" I asked.

"The low table. You have served me well enough here." With an amused sideways glance, he went over to the big table, picked up the tray and then carried it across the room, while I took the remaining things and waited for him to get settled. Instead he continued standing. "Put them down, he said and then sit there on the cushions."

"Me?"

"Didn't I say so? Close your eyes."

I did as I was told and could hear him fumbling about in the bag he'd set by the wall. Then a soft cloth was pulled across my eyes and tied behind my head. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Another lesson in using your senses, Gazelle Eyes." His breath puffed against my ear. "When sight is removed, the other senses take over." There was a rustle as he shifted, then I heard the bright ring of a ceramic cover being removed from a metal dish and smelled something wondrous. He came back, I felt his weight settle against my shoulder. "Taste this," he said. His finger, sticky with some substance, grazed my lip; I opened my mouth. He slid the finger inside and a unique flavor burst over my tongue. I hummed my appreciation.

"Delicious. I don't think I've ever had anything like it," I said.

"Isn't it good? The cook is a friend of mine. This is one of his specialties. Can you tell me what the sauce is made of?"

"It tastes both sweet and sour. Maybe honey and apple?"

"No, another fruit."

"Pomegranate."

"Very good. What else?"

He offered me another finger full and I swirled my tongue around it, an activity not displeasing in itself. "A hot spice, pepper; and a cool one, mint, oh, and I taste cinnamon and some kind of nut."

"Walnut. Excellent. There are other things in there as well. Try to taste them as I tell you what they are: garlic, coriander, cumin, parsley."

"Yes, I think I recognize those." Usually I had not attended much to the taste of my food; this seemed like ambrosia.

"Good. Now try this. Open up."

He slipped something into my mouth. Permeated with the same sauce, it had a meaty texture but was very tender and seemed to melt as I chewed. "It's aubergine, delicious," I said. "Ooh, Oromedon, it's hot. Quick, some water." I fanned my mouth and then felt a metal cup pressed to my lips. I took an unexpected gulp of red wine.

"So sorry, young one. I didn't know it was that hot. Here, eat some of this." He put a spoonful of cool, creamy yoghurt into my mouth and then handed me a flat substance with a dry grain to the surface. I recognized it as bread and ate it down in three bites.

"So much for delicately savouring your food," he said with a laugh. "But you are hungry, as young men your age always are. Here, I'll let you eat before we go on." The blindfold was pulled away from my eyes. With a flourish, he presented me with a plate of food, then prepared another for himself and poured out a cup of wine. It was a pleasure to watch him, his motions were flowing and unobtrusive. I wondered if I would ever become so graceful. When he was done with preparations, he sat down next to me on the cushions.

"It is probably inappropriate to sit here with you, but it seems we are dispensing with formality," he said. "Go ahead and eat."

There was the aubergine and pomegranate dish served with saffron rice which I scooped up with the bread, sliced cucumbers to dip into the sweetened yoghurt, and chunks of ripe cantaloupe with mint. It was a feast, made all the better by his warm laugh and close presence. I'm afraid I made a pig of myself.

"Slowly, little street pup," he said, his bread halfway to his mouth. "Your food won't do you any good if you bolt it down. See here what the cook has done, everything is balanced: smooth texture with chewy, sweet with sour, spicy hot with bland."

"I never thought of food that way."

"Here," he fed me another spoonful of yoghurt. "Close your eyes again and let this spread all over your tongue. See how the taste changes depending on where it rests on your tongue and how long you allow it to mingle with your mouth's juices."

"Yes."

Then I felt his lips on mine and his tongue snaked in to steal some of the tangy flavor. My eyes flew open. He had pulled back, licking his lips, with a mischievous look on his face.

"Don't you think it tastes even better that way?" he said.

I nodded, smiling at him, and then continued eating, more slowly this time. I did my best to savour every bite as he had said and eventually my stomach felt content. Leaning back into the large cushion propped behind me, I drained my cup and sighed. "That was wondrous, thank you."

He raised his cup in my direction and nodded. "It's my favorite dish and so I wanted to share it with you. Besides, as I said before, we need to put a bit more meat on those pretty bones."

"I will never forget your many kindnesses to me," I said. "You are like water flowing in the desert."

"It is my pleasure."

Silence hummed pleasantly between us, then I said by way of making conversation, "How did you come to Susa?"

A wrinkle briefly creased his forehead.

I thought, the wine is making me impertinent. "Forgive me," I said, "it's just that your accent is not local. I should not ask personal questions."

"Not at all. It is a fair question. Do you want a short or a long answer?"

"Oh, a long one, of course."

"Well then, you shall have it; just be prepared, much of my tale is not happy."

I propped my chin on my hand and awaited his story.


	5. A Child's Swing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oromedon and Cyaxares are real names of early Median kings. Since Mary Renault felt free to borrow one king's name, I thought it appropriate to borrow the other for Oromedon's father. Balacrus was actually a satrap of Cilicia during Alexander's reign.

_"He was extremely graceful, with a flawless skin; the Median, not the Persian beauty."  
‑The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

Oromedon gestured at the wine flagon. "So, would you like some more before I begin?"

I shook my head. "I think I've had enough already."

"Easily besotted, Beautiful?" he teased. "It's good to know that for the price of a few cups, I could have any satisfaction I wanted from you." He winked at me.

"You could have that anyway," I said with a laugh. "You are my tutor after all. How could I say no?"

Suddenly he was serious. "You could say no if that's how you felt, Bagoas. Know that I would never force you."

I nodded. Of course he wouldn't. I trusted him completely now, and thought I would do anything for him.

He held out his cup. "Well, I would like more . . . for strength, before I dredge up the past. Here, show me what you've learned, little apprentice."

I got up from the cushions and poured out the wine for him, making sure to bend my elbow gracefully. "So, Master Oromedon, am I improving my form?"

"It is improving every hour," he said and patted my rear. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go over to the bed?"

"In good time," I laughed. "You promised to tell me how you came to Susa, first."

"All right then, Nosy, you shall hear it. But remember that you asked for the long version."

I resettled myself on the cushions and curled up against him. He looked down at me with a soft expression. I thought I could stay forever in the shelter of his approval. He took a swallow of wine and then set the cup down on the table.

"I was born near Ekbatana, a beautiful little city high in the mountains. You may have heard of it, the ancient capital of the Medians, the race of my fathers. Several hundred years ago the Persians conquered our nation and the old palace became the Great Kings' summer home. I remember as a child standing on the topmost turret of our house and looking at those distant walls towering up like a manmade mountain, tier upon tier, and wondering what treasures must lie within. Well, now I know. Treasures of the imagination invariably are greater than those of the earth." He looked at me through his long lashes and continued.

"My father's name was Cyaxares. He was a formidable man, tall and muscular, with a great curly beard. In his youth, he had served as a soldier for King Artaxerxes and traveled all the way to India where he made some valuable friendships. When he left the military, he became a merchant and a very successful one, specializing in Indian spices. He made the trip himself several times and wisely bribed the brigands along the way, so that they did not steal the shipments. As a result of his ventures, we lived quite well. I was brought up with every advantage, a good education, a beautiful horse, expensive clothes, and training in the arts of war and diplomacy. I did not know at the time how lucky I was.

"My mother was lovely, full of joy, and graceful as an roe. My father doted upon her and didn't take any other wives or concubines. Whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her costly jewels. She confided to me once that she didn't need any more, but that he enjoyed giving them so much, she couldn't refuse. She was without affectation, loving nothing more than tending flowers in her garden, even though we had servants who could have done it for her. Mostly, I remember her singing. She put me to bed at night herself, rather than let the nurse do it, and she would sing me to sleep. I still remember the songs she taught me.

"Lovely as my mother was, she was fragile as a lotus blossom and frequently sick, especially after birthing my little brother. He was named Bhushan, after an Indian friend of my father's. He was two years younger than I, sweet, lively with a strange sense of humor, but also somewhat delicate."

At this, Oromedon stroked a finger along my arm.

"They said that I favored my mother, both in looks and temperament. Certainly, from an early age I knew that I was pretty. How could I not when visitors often remarked on it? Sometimes I wish it were not so; but who am I to question Mithra's whims? It has proved both disastrous and fortunate.

"When I was twelve, there came my first great sorrow: Mama died of a fever a week after having a baby girl. Papa was inconsolable and locked himself up in his room for months. We children were left to grieve on our own. I remember feeling desperately sad, but I had to be strong for my little brother. Bhushan wept bitterly for days and it just about broke my heart. I tried my best to care for him and my sister, but she died within the year. I remember sitting by her little bed, her large eyes staring into mine with a questioning look as she gripped my fingers, then she looked over my shoulder and smiled."

Oromedon paused and then he said, "I believe that Mama came for her. Right after that she went to sleep and never woke up. We buried her next to my mother in the garden that she had loved."

His eyes grew bright for a moment, then he rubbed his hand across his face. "I am soft, sometimes, Bagoas, when I should have learned better by now. I grew up in a paradise, unknowing that the world is a harsh place. Like a child's swing, fate carries you in one direction for a while and then at the zenith of its climb, begins falling backwards. Those deaths were the forerunner of more misfortune to come. I know you understand this, all too well."

I nodded. Sorrow at the loss of my family rose again in my breast, as if fresh‑cut. Tentatively, I touched Oromedon's hand. He smiled at me, laced our fingers together briefly and then continued.

"About that time the King made a local landholder named Balacrus the satrap over our region. He was a short, stocky man with a big, hooked nose and a beard that looked as if moths had chewed it. When my mother was alive, he was often a guest in our house, as my father was quite influential in those parts. There was something about Balacrus, something angry and gnawing that I never liked. His sharp black eyes were often upon both me and my mother in a way that scared me. I knew my mother was aware of it and avoided him, when she could. One has to be careful with powerful men.

"It started with something small, as these things usually do. Balacrus and my father had been playing a board game, which Papa wisely let him win without making it too obvious. They had made a bet and while Papa was dropping the coins in his hand, the satrap, giddy with wine and victory, commented that he wished his bet had been a night with my mother. At that, my father knocked the money from his hand and said, 'If that had been the bet, you can be sure I wouldn't have lost. As it was, your moves were so clumsy that I had to work at losing.'

"Balacrus was speechless with anger and my father had to call the guards to take him to his room.

"The next morning Balacrus apologized and Papa graciously blamed it on the wine and said it was forgotten. But of course it wasn't.

"We didn't see the satrap again for some time. After Mama died, he sent a gift and some time later came to pay his respects, so he said, bringing with him his own wife, Azin, and several of his concubines. Perhaps he meant to show them off as they were quite pretty, but I was soon to learn that he craved something else.

"My father was in no mood to entertain and left the meal early. I was on the eve of manhood at age thirteen and did my best to be a good host. Afterwards, I escorted Balacrus to his room. On some pretense, I think it was to give me a little gift, he enticed me to come in. How naive I was, Bagoas! I was secure in my father's house and had no idea that I might be attractive to men. I remember thanking the satrap for his kind words about my mother at dinner.

"He said, 'Yes, what a lovely woman. Your father was lucky to get her. Did you know I courted her before they were wed? But the King had not yet made me satrap and I could not order the marriage.'

"'No, my lord, I didn't know,' I said, feeling very uncomfortable. I now understood the root of his envy and the reason for my mother's fear of him; but why would he reveal such a thing to me?

"'You have her beautiful face,' he said, as his black eyes darted over me. 'The same wide eyes and lush lips, the same delicate bone structure. But I would say that your jaw and nose are your father's and keep your face from being that of a girl. It is a most attractive combination. You are a charming boy, Oromedon.'

"'You are too kind, my lord,' I said. His praise made me uncomfortable even though I'd heard it all before. He stretched out a hand and stroked my cheek, but something in his manner wasn't right. Too late, I saw the greed mounting in his eyes.

"I backed toward the door. He moved quickly and before I knew what was happening, he had slammed me against the wall and was pressing his body to mine. I struggled with him. I had shot up in height that year and was almost as tall and strong as he. I thought I could beat him if it came to a fight. His breath smelled like alcohol and kif.

"'You have no right,' I said. 'Please, let me go!'

"'I just want a kiss, boy,' he said. 'That's not too much to ask. Just a little one and I'll let you go.'

"I stopped struggling. Perhaps, I might get out of this without causing an embarrassing scene. After all, he did have power over my father. 'Just a kiss?' I asked.

"'Yes,' he said.

"I think I nodded and shut my eyes. I remember his flat lips on mine and for a moment it seemed he would stop at that; but then he pressed harder and soon was ravishing my mouth so hard my lip bled. He moved down to my neck, biting and licking, at the same time humping against me like a dog. Then he seized the neck of my tunic and pulled. I heard the cloth rip as he got it off my shoulder. Panicked, I finally realized that his intent was rape. I tried to wriggle away, to cry out, but he put his hand over my mouth.

"'Such protestations! Don't tell me that, with your looks, you've never been taken before,' he sneered. 'No? All the better then if I'm the first.'

"He pulled me away from the wall and flung me on the bed so hard that, for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I tried to shout for help again. Then, he was on top of me with a jeweled dagger in his hand, held over my eye. 'If you make another noise, Oromedon, I will kill you,' he hissed.

"'Then my father will kill you,' I replied.

"He paused at that, giving me an opening. I lunged up and bit his nose as hard as I could, at the same time knocking his hand aside. He howled and grabbed his nose and I kneed him in the crotch, then sped for the door. I'll never forget my terror that I would suddenly feel that knife plunge into my back. I opened the door and got down the hall before I ran head‑long into his wife. I yelled in surprise.

"She looked at me in my ripped clothes and then at her husband coming out of the door; hunched over, still holding his nose with a dreadful scowl on his face, and she laughed. I was so taken aback at her reaction that I stopped dead still.

"'Did you let a mere boy get the best of you, my lord?' she mocked.

"'Not for long,' he panted. 'Help me hold him down, Azin. He'll pay for his cheek.'

"'We are guests in Cyaxares' house and you would do violence to his son,' she said. 'This is ill‑advised, Balacrus.'

"It was then that one of our guards showed up, long overdue in my opinion. I made straight for my father's room, woke him up, and told him everything. My ripped tunic and the red finger‑weals on my arms backed up the story. I had never seen my father so angry. The manor echoed with his roar as he flew half‑dressed with a naked sword in his hand to Balacrus' room. He grabbed the satrap and threatened his life.

"I, at least, had recovered my senses and called to my father to think about what he was doing. That caused him to stop short of murder. By then the whole house was in an uproar. Balacrus' men had come in with swords drawn, and for a while it looked as if there would be a massacre.

"The satrap and his entourage left early the next morning. But that wasn't the end of it."

"Oromedon," I said aghast, "how could the man have done such a thing to you? He must have been stupid. Your father would have been within his rights to kill him."

"Indeed, and then he might have been put to death for it. As for Balacrus, well, power does strange things to men. They begin to think they are above the law and can have anything that takes their fancy; so it was with him. That night my father made a terrible enemy. Perhaps I should just have let him use me and that might have been the end of it. At the time, the idea shocked and disgusted me. Now . . ." he sighed, "well, I have been used many times since then and have become accustomed to it."

He gave me a sad smile. The kohl had smeared slightly under his eyes, giving them a bruised look. I wanted to put my arms around him and offer him comfort, but I did not. "No one has a right to use another that way," I said.

"I don't think so either, but it is part of life all the same."

"So what happened then, Oromedon?"

"Our family fortunes began to decline. Bandits attacked our next two spice shipments, taking everything and killing the men. Father was forced to borrow money to finance the next operation and he was determined to go with it. He told me he couldn't understand why they weren't honoring the agreements he'd made and wanted to straighten it out himself. I remember begging him not to go as I had a terrible feeling that I might never see him again. Such premonitions should not be taken lightly. He told me that it would all be fine. He said, 'You are growing up so handsome and capable. I am proud of you. I wish your mother were here to see it.' He embraced me in his powerful arms and I had to hide my face against his shoulder so he wouldn't see my tears.

"Two months later we received news that the brigands had attacked the caravan again and that my father had been taken and was thought dead. My grief was so great that I couldn't even think and wandered about in a daze. What would I do now? My brother and I were orphans.

"Shortly after that Balacrus arrived at the house with a troop of soldiers. He announced that he was taking the property to repay my father's debts and that because of the affection he bore my father, he would take care of me and my brother. I did not believe a word of it but was powerless to stop him. And so he took us to his palace.


	6. In the Snakes' Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, rape

_"No; in their discontent they will turn spiteful, and betray you. The surest way to end on a spike in the sun."  
The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

"He took you to his palace!" I exclaimed.

Oromedon curled his lip. "Indeed, Bagoas. There my brother and I were, two rabbits in a snake's den. The snake didn't waste any time either, but had me brought to his room that night.

"'So, little sweetmeat," Balacrus said, with a glitter in his eyes, 'you thought you had the best of me last time. This time you'll submit to me and you'll do it willingly.'

"'No, I won't,' I replied.

"He said, 'You think not?'

"He went to the door and called his guard, who brought in my struggling brother. When he saw the satrap and me, he went quiet as a stalked mouse.

"'Now, Oromedon,' Balacrus said, as if speaking to a small child, 'I wish to be pleasured this evening and I'm offering you a choice. It can be either you or your brother. Quite frankly, I don't care which; you are both pretty. And, in fact, I rather prefer younger boys.' He sidled over to Bhushan and jerked up his chin to look into his eyes.

"I remember going cold and still inside. I said, 'Do you promise not to touch him if I say yes?' I don't know what I thought, to get honor from a snake?

"He assured me he wouldn't do anything to my brother if I complied with his wishes and so I agreed. My brother shrieked my name as he was dragged off.

"Balacrus turned back to me, a triumphant smirk on his face. 'Get undressed and lie face down on the bed,' he said.

"Shaking with shame and fear, I did so. That night he took me until I bled."

A muscle twitched angrily in Oromedon's clenched jaw and a sick sensation rose in my gut. I understood his feelings, all too well. I beat my fist against the pillow. "The bastard! Was there nothing you could do?"

"Nothing. I could barely walk when he was finally done. I remember being taken to a small room with a washstand and cleaning myself, desperately trying to get free of his fluids. I had just slipped my trousers back on when the door creaked open and my brother was in the room, hugging me hard and crying.

"'Did he hurt you?' he asked.

"'Not too badly,' I said and tried to smile at him, but then became dizzy and sagged down on the little cot, wincing as I rolled on my side.

"'It was bad, I know it,' Bhushan said. He held up the bloody towel in the flickering lamplight. 'Don't lie to me, Meddi, (that's what he called me). I am not so young that I don't know a few things. You did it for me and I am so sorry. I want to kill him.'

"'Don't take it on yourself,' I said. 'It's over, for now, but I can't bear the thought of any more. We have to think what to do next.'

"Bhushan jumped up on a stool and looked out of a high window. 'Nice bright moon and the glint of guards' spears as far as the eye can see. No hope that way.'

"'If we could get a message out to one of Papa's friends,' I said, 'perhaps old Azran, maybe he could arrange for our release.'

"'I can't see how,' Bhushan replied. His brow was knit in thought.

"'Keep your eyes and ears open, Bushie. Make friends.'

"He said,'I think I have already. There is that young concubine. Her name is Jaleh. She brought me into the harem today and fussed over me; gave me sweets.'

"'Yes, I know that one. She looks at me with sad eyes. Be charming, Bushie. Get her sympathy. I have an idea.'

"He came down next to me on the cot and put his arms about me. 'It's not so bad if you're here, Meddi,' he said.

"'Yes, it's good we still have each other . . . and our wits.' I kissed his head."

Oromedon gave me a sideways glance. "I didn't think it could get worse, Bagoas. I was wrong. Balacrus left me alone for two days, long enough to heal and to gain some false hope that it might be over. Then he sent for me almost every evening for the next ten nights. He seemed to delight in thinking up new humiliations.

"On the tenth night, while he was busy buggering me senseless, his wife came into the room. I was lying with my head flopped over the side of the bed while he held my hips and plunged into me. With every thrust, he grunted like a rooting boar. I raised my head to look at her and my shame flared up anew. How could she stand there and watch this? Why did he allow it? She merely settled into a chair and waited until he was done.

"He finally finished and rolled onto his back. 'What are you doing here, Azin?' he snarled.

"She said, 'I thought I'd see what was so enticing about your new toy that you haven't visited me or any of the other girls in over a week.' She had a deep, scornful voice. I was immediately afraid of her and sensed that, in a way, Balacrus was also. He seemed careful around her and certainly hadn't reprimanded her for disturbing him.

"'He's there. Look all you want. I'm done for now,' Balacrus said.

"She came over and sat on the bed next to us. 'Roll over, boy,' she said. Her perfume enveloped me, a cloyingly sweet smell.

"I grabbed a pillow and held it against myself, then eased painfully back against the headboard and looked into her eyes for the first time. She had a hard, beautiful face with a high forehead and strong nose. Her eyes were pitiless and reminded me of a bird of prey. She wore a white robe bordered with purple and had her hair elaborately dressed.

"'I knew you had a handsome face,' she said, 'show me your other charms.'

I looked at Balacrus in horror. He laughed, reached over, and pulled the pillow away, throwing it across the room. 'Not very impressive, huh, my dear?'

"She slid a hand up my thigh. I could feel my face burning. 'Oh, I don't know, Balacrus. With the proper stimulation, he could be quite satisfactory. Are you so intent on your own pleasure that you never think of his? How like a man.'

"'He's just a slave now. Why worry about his pleasure.' Balacrus waved his hand dismissively.

"She leaned over and kissed me, at the same time working her hand between my legs. I could see the jealousy on Balacrus' face but he didn't stop her. 'There, that's better,' she smirked. She sat back and ran her fingertips over my chin. 'Hmmm, like peach fuzz. He's not going to remain a boy for long. What do you plan to do about that, my love?'

"He grinned. 'A fitting revenge on Cyaxares,' he said.

"Fear gripped my belly.

"When they finally let me retreat to my little room, Bhushan was there, bouncing with excitement. 'Meddi, guess what I found out,' he said. Then he stopped and looked at my face. 'What happened? Did he hurt you worse?'

"'His harpy of a wife came in while he was . . . Oh Bhushan, I'm so frightened. We must get out of here.'

"'And we can. You told me to keep my ears open and make friends. It's paid off. I have a way for us to escape. His concubine, Jaleh, really hates him and is willing to help us. She told me where to go to hide in the big laundry baskets. They take them out to the washing pond outside the walls in the morning,' Bhushan asserted.

"So we gathered what things we could, waited until the dead of night and then sneaked out of the room and headed for the harem."

Oromedon paused and picked up his wine cup. He swirled it around before taking a gulp. He was a good storyteller; his face and hands were animated as he spoke and he indicated different people speaking by tonal changes. I liked listening to him, even though his tale was becoming more horrific. Now his face was grim.

"Perhaps I am going on too long?" he said. "Are you bored, Bagoas?"

"Not at all, but I'm afraid to hear what happens next."

"You should be," Oromedon said darkly, "suffice it to say that the escape attempt was not successful. The next day Bhushan and I were sent to the slave dealer's knives. I know you remember what that was like."

Oromedon's words seemed to echo strangely in the room. A sunbeam coming through the window illuminated a narrow shaft of dust specks floating near the bed. He looked blankly at it for a while and then suddenly turned to me, his eyes black with hatred. "That bitch, that harpy Azin came down to watch the procedure. Not even Balacrus had the belly for that!"

I was shocked. "I've never known a woman as cruel as that."

"They exist," he replied. "I've known a few. Hungry for control, with hearts of stone. Be careful of them, Bagoas. Don't let them charm you into anything or, as I said, you'll end up on a spike in the sun as I nearly did."

"What happened?"

"Bhushan and I were both sick and in pain after . . . well . . . after they cut us. I healed up fine, they had done the work well, but Bhushan's wounds festered and he developed a fever. I did my best to care for him, soaked and changed the bandages and sponged him down. Jaleh came in frequently to help us. It was brave of her as she might have been punished for doing it without permission. When she left the room, she always looked to left and right before stepping out.

"She would gather Bushie's head in her lap and bathe his brow with a cool cloth. 'Poor little dear,' she said to him, 'it shouldn't have happened to you.' Once, in delirium, Bhushan reached up and put his hand to her face and called her Mama.

"She cried at that, I saw the tears streaming down her sweet face. I nearly cried too. Bhushan grew sicker by the day and I became so afraid, Bagoas. I didn't know what to do. I begged Jaleh to find a doctor.

"Later that day the door opened and Azin came in. She stood looking down at Bhushan with a curl to her lip, then she reached her hand to his forehead.

"'Don't you touch him,' I said.

"She smiled coldly at me. 'Do you want to save him, Oromedon?'

"'Need you ask?' I said.

"'How long has he been fevered?'

"'Three days.'

"'Not much time, then,' she said. 'Did you know that before I was married I was a priestess of Zam‑Armatay, the great earth goddess, and herb craft is part of the training? I know of infusions that will draw the poison and the right magic to make them work.' She paused with a strange gleam in her eyes. 'What will you give me, if I save him?'

"'What do you want?' I asked in despair. Yes, with her nothing was freely given and everyone had a price.

"She dragged her fingers through my hair. 'I only want to sample what my husband has already tasted so thoroughly, and now,' her smile grew broader, 'there is no danger of an unfortunate result, is there? If I cure your brother, I will expect your gratitude.'

"'You'll have it,' I said. I hated her.

"She went away and returned within the hour with several slaves who carried a steaming pot and herbs, towels, and various strange items. 'Leave,' she told me. I started to protest and one of the eunuchs, a big brawny man, shoved me out of the door. I sank down outside and prayed to Lord Mithra, promising any sacrifice he wished. Those are dangerous prayers to make, Bagoas."  
"Did she cure him?" I interrupted.

He sighed and curled a lock of my hair around his finger. "Yes. I don't know how; I wish I did. The next day the fever broke and soon he was sitting up and eating the broth Jaleh brought. I was actually grateful to Azin. Several days went by and I thought the witch might have forgotten our bargain, and then she summoned me.

"A young boy showed me to her rooms. When I was admitted, she was lying on a divan like some large cat. She wore a loose silk wrapper that barely covered her breasts. A eunuch was standing behind her, pouring wine into a jeweled goblet, which he handed to her.

"'Ah, there you are, Oromedon. Would you like something to drink?' she asked. Her assured smile made me tremble.

"I shook my head and stood there stubbornly, reflecting that in another life I might have found it exciting to be here for the first time with a half‑naked woman; however, any hope for a normal life was dead.

"She dismissed the eunuch, saying she had a private message for me, and then we were alone. 'Come here, boy, and sit beside me,' she said.

"With trepidation, I did so. She began combing her fingers through my hair and said, 'Am I so terrible to look upon that you would make a face like that?'

"'No mistress, you are beautiful,' I replied. I did not add that no doubt a tiger is beautiful too, until she eats you.

"'Then you should kiss me,' she said.

"I hesitated and she grabbed my shoulder. 'You made me a promise and I carried out my part of the bargain.' She slid her hand down my chest and then walked her fingers up my breastbone. 'I expect you to do whatever I want, enthusiastically, or, well, things could go badly for you.'

"I thought longingly of the various kinds of poisons that I'd heard of; how I might obtain one and mix it in her drink. 'Won't your husband object to this?' I asked.

"'Uh, Balacrus!' She didn't even bother to hide her scorn. 'A man with no imagination or ability. His wealth came from my family. If you decide to tell him, it would go ill with you rather than me. Such a happy marital arrangement, don't you think? Now then, pretty boy, you could start by removing all those clothes.'

"It was one thing to have submitted to Balacrus for fear of what he might do to my brother; it was another entirely to submit to Azin out of gratitude for saving him from death. For while Balacrus could only subdue my flesh, Azin was after my soul.

"She made me kiss her all over, rub my body against her, and pleasure her with my mouth. She seemed to like that quite a bit, squirming and moaning. She returned the favor, but though she had considerable skill, she had a difficult time getting me hard enough to penetrate her."

"I didn't have any problem," I said, rather archly.

Oromedon looked at me and his face relaxed as if he were coming out of an unpleasant dream. He smiled and bent down to kiss me, once, twice. "You, I wanted," he said. "Then, I was much younger, still sore from being cut, and I hated and feared her. It wasn't a very stimulating combination. After she had worked on me for a while, she said in disgust, 'I'd be better off asking one of my women servants to pleasure me.'

"Unwisely I replied, 'If you wanted a man, you should have let me grow into one. As it is, you could find any number down in the soldiers' barracks who could satisfy you.'

"I wasn't at all prepared for her response. She flew at me and raked her nails down my cheek and chest. 'Vile boy! Where did you hear that? Those are lies they tell!' She tried to hit me and I grabbed her wrists, so she shrieked. Shortly thereafter, the door flew open and her eunuch and several guards came tumbling in to see what had happened. Suddenly she was cold and completely in control. It was uncanny. She bent and slipped on her robe, then pointed a finger at me and claimed I had tried to rape her. 'Take him to the courtyard and impale him,' she declared. The guards allowed me to put on my clothes before dragging me out of the door.

"Terrified as I was, I knew I had to think quickly. One of the two guards was a man who had been friendly to me and Bhushan. I was sure that he knew what was going on and sympathized with my plight. I said to him, 'I didn't try to rape her. I was summoned there. You know that.'

"He replied that he could not disobey orders. Desperately, I cast about in my mind and then had a thought. 'Take me to Balacrus,' I said. When the man hesitated, I said, 'You know I've been his favorite lately. What do you think his reaction will be when he discovers his wife ordered me executed?'

"Well, that had the desired effect. I could see him working it through his head and realizing what might happen to him if his Master was crossed. He took me to see Balacrus."

"Clever of you," I said.

Oromedon caressed my hair. "Astonishing isn't it, how such an exigency focuses the mind? Always be aware of who holds the power and how to manipulate it in your best interest."

I nodded. "What did Balacrus do?"

"He was in the audience chamber, apparently hearing bad news from one of his captains. When I appeared, he glowered and stroked his chin, then took me and the guard off into a side room. The guard explained that the Lady Azin had ordered my execution on a charge of rape. It was anguish to beg the man who had abused me for help. I'd rather have shoved a knife between his ribs, but I had no choice. I calmly told Balacrus my side of the story, including some exaggeration for his benefit. I said, 'She told me that she never had any satisfaction from you and was forced to look for it elsewhere, even if it was from a eunuch.'

"At that his face became red. 'She goes too far,' he growled. He turned to the guard and said, 'You'll hold your tongue if you want to keep it. Take this one back to his room, put a guard on him, and then bring the Lady Azin to my chambers.'

Oromedon laughed. "I don't know what passed between them, although I imagine it was quite a show." Then he sobered again. "I was to learn much later that Balacrus had just been informed that some of my father's friends had gone to the King to complain about the confiscation of our property and our abduction. Apparently Balacrus had abused his power in other instances as well and was worried about the King's reaction. I suspect that he decided to get the incriminating evidence out of his house and assert his authority over his wife at the same time.

"Whatever the cause, the result was that I kept my life, but at a terrible cost. Bhushan and I were sent here to Susa and put on the auction block. We were purchased by different owners. I have not seen my brother since then."

"Oh, Oromedon!" I cried.

His mouth became a thin line. "I remember the desolate look on Bhushan's face when they pulled him away from me and led him to the block. There he stood, trying hard to hold his head up, biting his lip to keep from crying. He looked pale and skinny and alone. I had never felt so wretched and helpless, not in all this sorry business. I memorized the face of the man who bought him and later, when my fortunes had changed, made a concerted effort to find him. I only learned that he went to Sidon, from there to Egypt, and then there was no further trace of him."

There was a long silence. He looked so sad that I gave into impulse and put my arms around him. He sighed and rested his cheek against my chest. I reflected that while my family was torn from me at one instant, Oromedon had watched them being taken from him slowly, one by one. I didn't know which was worse. We lay there for a time in each other's arms, sharing the comfort that only one survivor can give to another. Finally, I asked, "And who bought you?"


	7. Shiva's Devotee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Namaste is a Sanskrit greeting and farewell. It means 'I bow to you,' or more literally, 'the god within me salutes the god within you.'

_"He strode forward, gay, handsome, assured, richly dressed and adorned with gold, smelling of costly essences. It took me some moments to reflect that, though more than twenty, he had no beard. He seemed no more like a eunuch than a shaven Greek."   
‑The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

******  
"Oromedon," I repeated, "who bought you, then?"

He roused himself and kissed the top of my head. "Someone who was to change my life, for the better. His name was Assim and he ran an inn frequented by wealthy merchants. He was in his fifties, had a robust white beard and was well respected in that part of town. He had a large household including his wife (who was so kind to me), three grown sons and their wives and children. With all the guests coming and going, the house was always like the market place during the Great Winter Festival.

"I had to work hard at cleaning, taking care of the grounds and the pack animals, but I was never abused there. Quite the contrary, Assim treated me like another member of the family. What a character he was, Bagoas. He made these large, circular gestures with his hands as he talked." Oromedon waved his arms madly about and I smiled. "He used to come and joke with me while I worked and make me laugh, something I sorely needed. When eventually my sad history came out, he made a great effort to help me find Bhushan." Sighing, Oromedon shook his head and then went on.

"After all my misfortune, that man was a gift from the gods. He restored my dignity and my faith in men. But for all his kindness, I still had a hollow ache in my heart. I lived there for three years and then one day the gods dropped another gift into my lap.

"It was a hot morning in early summer. I was sweeping the steps of the inner courtyard when I sensed that someone was watching me. Glancing up, I saw a man standing there. He had approached so silently, I hadn't even heard him. He was dressed all in white cotton, wearing a head wrap, and a gauzy shirt that reached mid‑thigh over a long cloth, sinuously draped and wrapped about his legs. He looked perhaps in his late twenties, although it was hard to guess. He was slight in build, dark‑skinned, and wore his beard trimmed close. His features, while not classically handsome ‑ the eyebrows perhaps too thick and the nose slightly crooked ‑ still had an intriguingly purposeful quality that made me want to stare at him. He stood contemplating me with his head cocked to one side. Then he smiled and his eyes were like sunlight sparkling on water. I was instantly drawn to him.

"'Greetings. Do you work for Assim?' he asked.

"I nodded.

"'You must be new then,' he said.

"'Not so new, he's been my master for three years,' I replied. At age sixteen, that seemed quite a long time.

"'Ah well, it's been four since I was last here. I am glad to see my good friend has augmented his household so beautifully. Could you please help me to unload my mules?' He waved in the direction of the outer courtyard."

When Oromedon imitated the man's voice, he used a strange accent, with the words clearly enunciated and spoken with a melodic lilt. I smiled to hear him and thought that, in another life, he might have made a good actor. He stroked my thigh absently and continued.

"I went out to do as the man had asked and saw three strong mules loaded down with large woven baskets, one on each side. Two men with swords sheathed at their sides were already unstrapping the load. I helped them carry the baskets out of the hot sun through the courtyards into the cool hallway of our inn.

"While we were doing that, Assim appeared. When he saw his new guest, he spread his arms wide and roared, 'Vaju, my good and dear friend!' They hugged and laughed and pounded each other on the back. When they were done with this display, they exchanged some news, and finally Assim beckoned me over. 'Oromedon, I want you to meet my friend, Vaju Sivasutaya. He and his father have been coming here to trade goods since he was a boy.'

"'Namaste,' Vaju said. He pressed his palms together and bowed his head. I bowed in return and when I came up, found him looking at me again with an intense, unblinking gaze. He smiled and laugh lines dimpled his cheeks most handsomely. I began to smile back, then remembered myself and quickly lowered my eyes. They stayed chatting for quite some time while I helped to lug his baskets into the large room at the top of the stairs. Once this was done, his two men departed. I flopped down into a chair and was fanning my face when Vaju entered the room. Embarrassed to be caught idling, I leaped up and asked if he wanted anything.

"'Yes,' he replied, 'a drink of something cool. . . and your company.' He strode over, opened the door that led onto the balcony and looked out into the bustling hive that was the city. 'Mmm, yes, Susa, at the beginning of summer. What terrible timing, but then we were delayed on the road.' He began unwinding the head cloth. 'Now that I think of it, some water for washing would be good too,' he said.

"When I came back with a basin and towel and a pitcher of lemon‑flavored water, he was wearing only the cloth wrapped about his lower body. He called it a dhoti. His straight, shoulder‑length hair was tousled and sweaty from being confined. The hard curves of his arms spoke of an active life. He wore a shell necklace over a well‑formed chest with a fine dusting of black hair shaped in a triangle, the point descending in a narrow line down his belly. I remember thinking that he had a man's body, such as I would never have.

"He washed himself, slicked back his hair, drank half the pitcher, and then sat in a chair. 'Much better,' he sighed. For a moment, a few drops of water glistened in his beard. Noticing my glance straying over to the large baskets he had brought, he said, 'Curious, my friend? You can go and look if you wish.'

I rose, went over to the baskets, and lifted the cover of one. "'Wheat?' I asked as I reached in and let some of the grains sift through my fingers.

"He laughed and sprang nimbly out of the chair to stand by my side. 'That's what I want the bandits to think if they stop us,' he said. He removed a shallow basket filled with wheat and set it aside. Below it were numerous leather bags tied shut with thongs. Reaching in, he pulled out an armful which he carried to the bed. 'Come here to see.' He patted the bed invitingly. I came over and perched on the edge as he began opening the bags and spilling out their contents.

Such treasures, Bagoas! There were all kinds of beads, semi‑precious stones and crystals: lapis lazuli, carnelian, malachite, topaz, garnets, lovely, filigreed ornaments of silver and gold, and bags of iridescent shells, all shapes and sizes. He saw that the shells intrigued me and pulled out some beautiful spotted ones, then unwrapped a large one, half the size of my head. It had sharp fingerlike prongs on the outer lips and a rolled spiral shape with a pink interior that glistened like polished marble. He asked if I'd ever seen one of these before and I said no. He handed it to me. 'Beautiful, is it not? The boneless creature who lives in this magnificent home is very ugly, but tastes quite delicious. The holy men make horns of it, which have an extraordinary sound, but it contains its own music. Here, hold it to your ear.'

"When I did, I could hear a distant susurration.

"'Do you hear the murmur of the ocean?' he asked.

"Bagoas, I was as entranced as a child presented with a shiny toy. 'Is that what the sea sounds like?' I asked. 'I've never heard it. I was raised in the mountains.'

"'I too,' he said. 'But I've traveled to many places.'

"'How does it capture the sound?' I asked, feeling foolish as I turned the shell in my hands.

"'It is simply its nature,' he said. 'Like all things, we each have our special gifts.' He looked at me with a gentle expression, then reached over and touched my face. 'You have been, what's the word, gelded?'

"'Yes,' I said. Shame scorched me.

"'It is a barbarism,' he said, 'to treat a beautiful young man this way. I have always thought so. There will come a time when they don't do it anymore.'

"He spoke with such authority, I began to wonder if he was a seer. He was looking at me with concern. It was more than that, Bagoas, he seemed to be looking inside me.

"'There is a shadow about you,' he said. 'May I touch you?'

"I nodded and he set his hands on my shoulders, passed them down my chest and gently probed my abdomen. His touch was soothing. He said, 'In addition to the gelding, you have been mistreated, sexually I mean. Isn't it so?'

"Surprised, I asked, 'How do you know?'

"'I can feel a blockage about your chakra, at the base of your body, here.'

"'Chakra?' I asked.

"'Simply stated, one of the seven centers of vitality within the body.' He patted my lower abdomen. 'Can you feel any pleasure in this area?'

"'No,' I said, and then spat out, 'how could I, after what that bastard did!' The sudden vehemence of my feelings and the very fact that I was speaking of them with a stranger seemed astonishing. I had not even told Assim about being raped, but with Vaju it seemed to spill out naturally. I told him everything.

"He searched through the piles of precious objects on the bed and pulled out several pieces of red coral. 'Here, pass your hand over them. Which one speaks to you?' he asked. I selected one and he said, 'Yes, that's right.' He looped a thong about the end and tied it around my neck. 'This will help,' he said. 'If you feel pain, come back to me.'

"'Are you a healer?' I asked.

"'Yes, of a sort.' He smiled. 'I can help you, if you wish it.' He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead.

"I went away and found myself thinking of him until late in the evening, wondering what power he possessed to know that which I had kept secret.

"The next day Vaju asked Assim if I could assist him in the market place and so I began to spend part of my days helping to sell his wares at an awning‑covered booth. Occasionally he would treat someone as he had me, unexpectedly divining some source of pain and selecting stones to heal them. His clients always looked as amazed as I must have, and paid him well for his advice.

"Vaju did not mention my condition again, but instead talked of his home and his family, especially his aging father whom he revered, the lands he'd visited, and strange customs he'd encountered. Interwoven into his conversation was a larger, mystical view of life. He said that the universe seeks to obtain balance and harmony through us, whether we know it or not. He said I was destined to serve a powerful man. He told me much that I needed to hear, Bagoas; it was like a balm to my soul. In return, I found myself telling him things I'd never told anybody: how I felt that I had failed my family, especially my brother, that I deserved the punishment I'd received. He listened to everything I said and did not judge.

"After spending seven days with him in this manner, I remember lying in my little room at night and staring at the ceiling. I could almost sense him in the room two floors above me. A longing filled my heart. I got up, stealthily climbed the stairs, and knocked on his door. When he opened it, his face was impassive as if he had been expecting me. 'I've come to be healed,' I said. He nodded and drew me in.

"I didn't know what to expect and was nervous. I'm sure he was aware of it for he progressed slowly. Placing his hands lightly on my shoulders, he turned me to face a little altar he had created on the table. There was a small statue of a dancing god, and next to it a black stone phallus that penetrated a flat oval disk. Flower petals surrounded it. Nearby a small lamp burned and so did some sweet‑smelling incense. 'I am a chela, a devotee of the Lord Shiva,' he said. 'He dances the beat of the world as both its destroyer and creator. Here,' he picked up the phallus. 'This is his symbol, which is called the lingam. As you can see, it is in sexual union with the yoni, the female aspect. Sex is a most sacred act, Oromedon, the act of creation and manifestation of love. It should never be abused.' He picked up a small bowl of water which had a large white flower floating in it and put it into my hands. 'This is a gift from my heart to yours,' he said. 'Will you allow me to try to heal you?'

"I nodded and he bade me sit on the bed and contemplate the flower. 'Breathe deeply and slowly,' he said. 'Feel its shape and texture. Inhale its fragrance.' He sat down in the chair opposite me and drew his legs up under him, while I did as he had asked.

"Presently he spoke in a different language, which had a throaty, mellifluous sound. He switched to Persian and said, 'The story of the lingam is that two gods, Brahma and Vishnu, argued about who was greater. Lord Shiva, who is formless, decided to end the argument and so became a great pillar of flame, the holy lingam. He said whoever found the head or foot of that flame would prove the greater. So Brahma took the form of a swan and looked for the head, while Vishnu became a wild pig and sought the foot. But neither of them found it, for as you can imagine, there are no limits to an infinite being. Once they realized their mistake, they were humbled, for one cannot reach the god through ego, but only through selfless devotion.'

"'I understand the concept behind what you are saying, but not the feeling," I said, "My only experience of sex has been painful and humiliating.'

"He reached forward and took my hands. 'Then you must unlearn that. Anything can be perverted by man's selfish nature into something corrupt. Intent is everything. But know this, my friend, to love the god through the body is divine.' He spoke with me a long time as he held my hands and looked deeply into my eyes. I began to feel warm and relaxed. Then he asked me if I would allow him to touch me intimately. 'If you become uncomfortable, just say so and I will stop,' he said.

Oromedon paused and looked at me lying on the cushions with my head propped on my hand. His eyes were unfocussed and soft with memory. "It was an extraordinary experience. Perhaps I should show you, Bagoas. I think it would do you good. Vaju taught me the rudiments, but it won't be the same as I don't have his power or skill."

I sat up, intrigued. He stood and held out his hand. "Come, the bed will be more comfortable."

He paused and bent to slip off his trousers. I watched the curve of his back as he did so, the spine rolling forward, the revelation of tight, smooth buttocks and the firm backs of his thighs. My heart began to pound as I followed, leaving my trousers in an unsightly lump on the floor. I looked at them for a moment, wondering if I should fold them and put them on the clothes stool as I'd been instructed.

"Leave them, Gazelle Eyes," Oromedon said. "We are not keeping to that ceremony today. Come up here." I climbed into the great bed and sat on my haunches facing him. "Namaste," he said, putting his palms together and bowing to me. He asked me to do likewise. We bumped heads unexpectedly, and both of us burst into laughter. "That is good," he said, finally. "This should not be so serious."

Then he had me lie down, stretched out with my legs slightly apart. He propped up my head with a pillow. He knelt by my side, rubbed his hands together vigorously and then shook the fingers.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Shhh," he admonished, "Vaju said he was stimulating his vital force. Now relax, breathe very deeply, and don't talk." He gave me a mock stern look. Then he placed his left hand over my heart, reached between my legs with the other and pressed down on a most sensitive spot near my opening. I jumped at first, but he continued a gentle pressure for a long time, then he cupped my shaft, my lingam, as he called it. That term sounded better somehow. I began to relax and breathe as he had said. He rocked the hand and I could feel a pleasant tingling sensation, felt myself beginning to harden.

"That's good," he said and pressed under my navel, leaving his other hand over my heart. Slowly, he brought both hands to my heart, rocked them back and forth, then one hand to my throat and following that, my forehead. After a time, a cool sensation began vibrating up and down my body. "Do you feel the movement of the vital force?"

I nodded.

"Vaju said this would open the chakras and release destructive emotions. Here, it will get better. Bend your knees and raise your legs up." He reached to the side table, picked up the oil bottle, and poured some on his hands. He shifted down and began massaging very deeply into the muscles around my hip joints between my legs, coming back to press on that sensitive spot, then moving all around my shaft, which by now was fully alert. Finally, he took it between his palms and squeezing at the base with one hand, he milked the other up along it. The tingling intensified and began moving up and down my body. I groaned.

He smiled, "So, you've learned to voice your pleasure. Good." He continued doing this for quite some time, alternating hands while I grew hard, then softened, then hardened again. I was drowsy, relaxed, and yet enervated, floating.

Eventually he took his hands away and then lay down next to me. He stroked hair away from my face. "How do you feel, Bagoas?"

"Wonderful."

"Good. There is a lot more. What I just showed you was only part of what Vaju did that evening but I wouldn't attempt to move the energy in the way he did as I haven't the skill. Vaju continued it for hours and when he finished, I felt boneless and light at the same time. He told me to concentrate on my breathing and allowed me to lie there with my eyes closed for a time. I could still tell exactly where he was in the room, as surely as one can tell where the sun is with one's eyes closed Finally he touched me on the shoulder and said it was time to go back to my own bed.

"I put on my clothes and he kissed my forehead again as I made to leave. I thanked him and then paused as I could see that the fabric strained at his crotch. 'Are you aroused?' I asked.

"'Judge for yourself.' He smiled. Shyly, I reached down and cupped my hand between his legs. He was very hard.

"'You don't wish me to relieve that?' I asked.

"'All in good time,' he said.

"I nodded. As I turned to go, he put his hand on my arm and said, 'I must confess to you, dear friend, that there was a time when I had no control over my urges. I rutted with many different people, male and female, in all sorts of places and situations. No matter how much gratification I had, it was never enough; I wanted more. Then one day I took a boy against his will. He cried afterward and I felt such remorse that I determined to change. I sought wisdom and discovered that I desired not physical but spiritual fulfillment. Since then, I have learned control and in that control, I found freedom.'

"He put his arms about my waist and drew me close. I could feel his heart beating against my chest. He said, 'Oromedon, you must know that I wanted you from the first moment I saw you; but I could see that you had been abused. I will never again force an intimacy. If you give yourself, you must do it because you want to. It will be all the sweeter for both of us.'

For a moment Oromedon looked to some unknown horizon, a soft expression on his face. I thought that he had indeed been lucky to meet such a man. "So, what did you do?" I asked.

He laughed. "I returned to my own room and bed, as much good as it did me. I could barely sleep. The next night he ministered to me in the same fashion and again I left without any culmination. On the third day, it was agony working alongside him in the market. I was on fire with my need for his touch and found every excuse to bump into him. He seemed amused by it and teasingly said, 'Who knew that caressing your lingam would incur such clumsiness?'

"Business was slow and he decided to close up early. We packed up his wares and took them back to the inn. I stood in his room, hearing the bustle of customers in the hallway and wondering if I could wait until everyone went to bed. Then he suggested that we go for a walk.

"Vaju could talk quite a bit when he had a mind to. We walked and talked until dusk. He bought me something to eat at a stand and we ended up climbing a hill to feel the breeze. At the summit, there was a small temple to Lord Mithra. We went around behind it where we could see the city spread below and the river beyond. Mithra was a god I grew up with and I told Vaju about him, that the power and light of Mithra were like the sun, that he was also the god of love, and that he could be both male and female.

"'That is true too of Shiva,' he said. 'God is all the same, no matter what names we use. It is our poor attempt to give form to the ineffable.'

"We stood still listening to the distant noise of the city: dogs barking, sudden laughter, the percussion of hooves, a baby's wail. The sun shimmered liquid on the horizon, streaking the sky with fiery splendor, which was reflected in the river below. A magical moment, ripe with possibility.

"He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, his body warm and vital against my own. The blood thundered in my veins. I thought he would kiss me, but still he waited. With a heady sense of freedom, I realized that the next move was indeed mine. I said, "Vaju, it is no accident that we find ourselves together here, in this place and time. I believe you are a gift from Mithra. How could I reject what the god wishes, especially as it is what I want as well." Then I kissed him.

"It was like releasing a summer storm, so fiercely arduous was his response. A low moan escaped him as he pressed me against the smooth temple wall, still warm from the afternoon sun. Kisses rained over my face and neck; while our loins sought to join together right through our clothes. We kissed and rubbed until I thought I would go mad. Finally he fell to his knees, tugged down my trousers, and with hands, lips, and tongue, made me the center of his worship."

Oromedon shivered with joy at the memory and I felt a twinge of jealousy, though I knew it was irrational. Where was this man now? At the moment, I was the one Oromedon held in his arms.

He sifted his fingers through my hair and said in an awed voice, "We went back to the room after that and made love all night long. He had the most extraordinary restraint and could achieve orgasm without releasing seed. As he neared culmination, he shook and bit down on a leather strap to keep from screaming. When he finally erupted deep within me, I was beyond pain or thought. Bagoas, that night and for many nights after, he took me to ecstasy, over and over. It was like being purged in waves of light."

"I would like to know that feeling," I murmured. There was a hollow ache inside me that wanted, wanted so very badly. Softly dark and limpid were Oromedon's kohl‑smudged eyes, lit from within; the past and present co‑mingled in their depths. He shifted a leg over my loins. I could feel him hard against me, a most delicious heat, and my desire took shape. Pulling him down, I felt his mouth open to mine and then we were lost in each other.


	8. Exorcising Demons

_"He still hoped to exorcise my demon, giving much patience to it; but the pain always returned, its strength increased by the pleasure it had fed on."  
‑The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

Wrapped in the comfort of Oromedon's arms, I realized that my family's death and the subsequent horrors of the past three years had left me numb. There had been no one with whom I could share my grief, so I'd sealed it up inside where it had festered into despair and self‑loathing. Existing among men who wanted me only for the pleasure my body provided, I hadn't perceived the extent of my dreadful solitude until Oromedon had walked through the door bringing light and humor and companionship. I had stretched out my arms to him and he had responded.

Now the story of his own misfortunes had cracked me open, exposing my wounds to his unique balm. I knew him to be my brother in pain and understood that he was giving me a gift as precious as that which Vaju had given him ‑ a chance to feel affection again. Could it be possible that he felt the same way about me?

His kisses were nuanced, tender one moment, forceful the next. He nibbled at my lips, and just when that game was no longer novel, with a rush he devoured me again, entwining our tongues, taking my mouth completely and deliciously. With little moans and sighs, our mouths danced together. I thought I could kiss him forever and not grow tired of it, and I feared that I could never do this with anyone else. It made me apprehensive about the future. He was merely my teacher; I should not think of him as a lover. Oh, but never before had sex been an expression of affection. How I craved it!

His lips bade farewell to mine with a final lingering kiss and he moved downwards, pausing to suck in a nipple, tonguing it thoroughly, letting it slide free from pursed lips, then repeating it with the other. I hissed in pleasure. "You were right, I do like that."

He laughed softly as he shook hair out of his eyes. "You have such tender little rosebuds. I could imagine having them for dinner, dressed with that honey‑pomegranate sauce." Teasingly, he tugged on my flesh with his teeth. I protested somewhat feebly, and he continued licking and sucking until they were so sensitized, I couldn't bear it any longer.

"Ow, Oromedon, enough!"

He chuckled. "Be so good as to hand me that oil flask, my dear."

I reached to the bedside and handed the bottle to him. He sat up and poured out a handful which he rubbed generously over my body, then told me to do the same for him. I loved feeling the contours of his chest, lean and well‑developed, with just a hint of softness around the nipples. When I was done oiling him, he pushed me back onto the bed and slid his body up and down mine, several times. It felt delightfully slick. He began circling his hips slowly, rubbing our shafts together. I mirrored his motions, sliding back and forth. The friction made me tingle with delight. Judging by the noise he was making, he liked it too.

Then he slid up my body again, but this time on the downstroke caught my stiffened member between his oiled thighs. I spread my legs to accommodate his, while he, with a cadenced thrusting and canting of his hips, worked my shaft back and forth between his thighs as if he were molding clay. His skill left me breathless. I gasped and closed my eyes.  
"Does it feel good, Beautiful?" he said in my ear.

"Yes," I replied, with a little catch in my voice.

"Good," he said. "Maybe, this time . . ." he trailed off. "Let's see if we can make it even better."

He moved down, settling his chest between my legs; then he ran his tongue along my hipbones, and nibbled on them. It tickled. I writhed and laughed, and he laughed too.

"Yes indeed, my lovely, you are quite luscious all over." He was stroking my shaft almost absent‑mindedly, then pretended to suddenly notice it. "Ah now, look what I've discovered! Something else good to eat."

Enveloping my organ in his agile mouth, he alternately teased it with his lips and tongue, then sucked on it with long, hard strokes. I spread my legs further and thrust gently into his mouth, responding as immediately as I could to his changes in tempo. I sighed, thrashed, moaned. A warm, purring sensation was spreading from my lingam throughout my body, seeking some unknown point which I felt desperate to get to, but at the same time feared.

After taking his time to coax sensations that I had never known before, he abruptly sat up, bent his head over me, then plunged down, taking me deep into his throat. With a shout, I threw my head back and closed my eyes. Oh blessed rapture! I knew I should be paying attention to his technique but I was beyond rational thought. I wanted to let go, let it all go. I hadn't known it could be like this! It was all rushing away from me; I couldn't get my breath . . . .

Suddenly, sharp slivers of pain shot from between my legs upward into my belly, a sensation as agonizing as it had been pleasurable a moment before. Gasping, I curled inward. "Oromedon, it hurts, it hurts!"

Immediately, he moved up alongside me to look anxiously into my eyes. "Still, Bagoas? I'm so sorry. I only wanted . . ." He was stroking my back.

Echoes of pain throbbed through my groin; tears welled up into my eyes. I choked down a sob. There was a greater pain in my heart. I feared I had failed him.

"Hush," he was saying, "It's all right. My fault. It's too soon, clearly."

He put both arms about me, pulling me close. At this, the pent‑up grief of the past three years burst from me and I cried shamelessly against his warm chest.

"There now," he said as my shudders finally subsided. He wiped my eyes with a corner of the sheet. "Do you feel better?"

I nodded. He said, "Sometimes a good cry is just what is needed, even for us eunuchs. Whatever they think they did to us, they did not succeed in cutting out our hearts. Well, I won't try to bring you to culmination again. Perhaps some day you'll be cured, but obviously not yet." He sighed.

"It felt so wonderful until . . . Oh Oromedon, I'd be better off like those other eunuchs you told me about, feeling nothing!"

"Oh no, surely not! You've seen them. They get all their pleasure from eating and you know what becomes of that!" He puffed out his cheeks and crossed his eyes. A laugh burst from me, rattling counterpoint to the shudders. He smiled, but his eyes were still worried, hooded where they had been dreamy before.

I voiced my great fear. "I'm so sorry, I've failed you. Does this mean the master won't accept me?"

"No, no, my lovely, not at all. It's my fault, not yours. I wanted so much to cure you, for both our sakes. I wanted you to feel pleasure, but in the process I have forgotten my place and yours too. This is simply a sharp reminder." He looked intently at me, tapping a finger along my breast bone to emphasize his words. "Your calling is to please, not to be pleased. We serve at the pleasure of our master and can't forget that. I assure you, your problem will not matter where you are going. But _it seems to me that in spite of this trouble, or perhaps because of it, who can tell what makes the artist, you have a gift. Your responses are very delicate." _

I looked up at him hopefully, his praise like water in a parched throat. "Do you think so?"

"Indeed yes, all you need is to learn technique. That I shall teach you."

"I thought that was what we were doing?"

He smiled indulgently. "We've hardly begun."

That made me feel better. At least he wasn't going to disappear tomorrow. He bent to kiss me again, but I put a finger against his lips. "Oromedon, what happened to Vaju and how did our master come to own you?"

"Haven't you had enough of storytelling?" he asked. "No? Well then I'll be brief. I spent six passionate weeks with Vaju. I suspect he tarried toward the end in order to stay longer with me. But finally, he had concluded his trading and was ready to go home. He told me his father was getting old and had been sick when he left, so he was afraid to be gone too long. We parted hard, he saying it would only be a few years until he returned. I longed to accompany him but, and remember this Bagoas, I belonged to another man, a good man whom I did not want to abandon, and so I did not ask and Vaju did not offer. We do not have a choice in these matters.

"Nevertheless, I was bereft when he departed. The world, which had seemed bright and promising again, became one long series of empty chores. If Assim guessed my problem, he did not allude to it, instead he tried to distract me by sending me on expeditions to the market and other places of business. About six months later Assim became involved in a dispute with a creditor. He petitioned the Great King and was granted an audience with one of the King's ministers. As a treat, Assim took me with him to the royal palace.

"Bagoas, I was completely awed by it. I filled my eyes, trying to remember everything: the magnificent architecture with long flights of stairs, the immense winged bulls guarding the doors, the painted and gilded columns, the brilliant enameled‑brick mosaics along the walls, the many‑colored tapestries; the fountains, the cages of brilliantly plumaged birds; servants of all kinds, guards with long swords, huge black Nubians wearing gold collars, musicians playing harps, flutes and drums, swirling dancers; crowds of well‑dressed people from all parts of the world, all of them coming and going."

"It sounds marvelous," I said, "I wonder if I shall ever see it?"

He looked at me through his eyelashes. "Perhaps one day," he said. "Assim had bought me a beautiful dark red suit for the occasion, and I had painted my eyes and dressed my hair. I must say that I looked fine." Oromedon tossed his head and laughed.

I could well imagine him like a peacock in his new clothes, walking gracefully through that multitude, and the heads turning to stare at his beauty.

"Assim's petition went well and it was later decided in his favor. But in the meantime, while I was waiting upon him in the great audience hall, our current master had occasion to notice, and apparently took a fancy to me ‑ unusual, as I was getting somewhat old for that kind of attention from men.

"I still remember Assim's dismayed expression when he came to tell me about it; his huge shoulders were hunched and he was twisting his hands together, like this. He tried to put a good light on it. 'You have been given a great honor,' he said, 'and while I am loath to give you up, I cannot refuse.'"

"He sold you?" I asked.

"Yes. Once the request was made, he had no choice, and you will know why in due time. It was to my advantage, a considerable rise in station. But I do not think Assim ever came to terms with what my new duties would be. He knew I was to be a personal servant and let it rest there. I never told him what that entailed. Shortly after that, I packed up my few things and arrived at our master's household. A eunuch came to train me, much as I'm doing with you now; but it became apparent, thanks to Vaju, that I was actually more skilled than he. Then I was presented to my new master and for several years I was suitable. So, that's how it came about." He laughed and gently tweaked my nose. "I gave you the short version this time."

I was eaten up with curiosity and apprehension. "Please, Oromedon, can't you tell me who our master is?"

He laughed. _"Haven't you guessed even yet? But no, how should you? One thing, though, I can say, and don't forget it, he loves perfection; in jewels and vessels, in hangings, carpets and swords; in horses, women and boys. No, don't look so scared; nothing dreadful will be done to you for falling short; but he might lose interest, which would be a pity. I wish to present you flawless; he will expect no less of me."_

He smiled down at me, brushing the backs of his fingers against my cheek. "In any case, _I doubt if your secret will come to light there. Let us think no more of it, and apply ourselves to useful knowledge." _

"Useful knowledge?" I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Well, I've shown you the main forms of lovemaking, with the exception of the heart of the matter. Since that is how he will most often wish to end your sessions, I think that is next."

His hand slid down my back and cupped my rear. Then I felt a finger gliding down the divide, finally resting against my most intimate space. I held my breath as he began stroking gently back and forth.

"Have you been penetrated before?" he asked. His lips buzzed pleasantly against my ear.

"Yes. The first time it was proposed to me, I thought I had never heard anything so vile. I slapped the man and was beaten for it. After that I submitted because I had no choice, but always with revulsion. And it always hurt."

"Another thing to unlearn," Oromedon said. "My first experiences were hardly positive either, as you know, but now I find it immensely pleasurable and not at all painful. In fact, I think you could learn to appreciate it as a different form of fulfillment, even with your problem. Vaju taught me that culmination is only one way to enjoy sex. There are others, although most men wouldn't bother to try them. Why should they, when shooting their seed feels so marvelous? But this part of you," at this he applied more pressure, "is capable of very pleasurable sensations. However, even with a careful lover, it hurts at first, and our master will not enjoy causing you pain."

I glanced up and met his eyes.

"Yes, it's true," he said with a gentle smile, "he would never hurt you, knowingly. So, it will be my onerous duty to get you past those first times until you can accept it with comfort and perhaps even with enthusiasm."

"Onerous?" I asked, but then saw him grin.

"Mmmm, it is a role I rarely ever get to play. Maybe good for tuning up my skills as well?"

At that, he pushed a finger inside me. At first it merely felt uncomfortable but soon it began to burn. I bit my lip.

"Relax, Beautiful, you're squeezing my finger in two! Here, now we'll try something to get you thinking differently about this part of your body. Roll over on your stomach and bring your legs up under you."

I did so, feeling vulnerable and exposed. I need not have feared, he was so gentle. He pressed kisses to my backside, slowly up and down; then I felt pressure, a stretch, and he had spread me open. There was a soft tickle as his lips moved against my opening. I jumped and made a little noise. But he stroked my back soothingly and continued kissing; his lips fluttered against me, like moth wings. Curiously, when I got over the idea of what he was doing, I realized that it did indeed feel pleasant; more than that, it was deeply erotic.

Then he was spreading me even wider and there was a wet tongue pressed to my hole, licking rapidly. That was even better and I groaned in appreciation, causing him to lick even harder, in wide sweeps and then back. He began alternating kisses and rapid licks and eventually he was pushing his tongue into me. It seemed so very transgressive, and yet, he had spoken truly, it felt wonderful. I shut my eyes and gave into the sensation, as his very wet and supple tongue invaded my most private place.

Finally, he came away. "Do you like that?" he asked.

"Yes, oh yes," I moaned. He chuckled. "I thought so. You will yet make a talented courtesan, but again, this isn't something to try with your master. His tastes are rather . . . prosaic. And you didn't hear that from me."

Again, he pushed his finger into me, which he wriggled back and forth as he licked all around it. It was still burning a little, but not as before.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Here comes another."

"Ah, now that hurts!"

"Clamp your muscles around my fingers. Now relax them. Yes, that's good. Tighten. Release. Again. Better now?"

I grunted incoherently.

"Good," he said. "It's time for something a bit bigger. Although, you're lucky it's me to start with." I felt him move away from me and found I had my eyes squeezed tight. I opened them and saw him pick up the oil flask. "Always have some of this handy," he said. "Tuck it in your jacket or waistband. I had some pockets made for it. Our master will not concern himself with it and you do not want to be caught unprepared, for without it, you could be damaged. I tell you this from sad experience; I couldn't sit right for days." He grinned and turned my palm upward to pour oil into it. "You can prepare me."

He was in a semi‑hard state that rapidly grew into a slender pole as I stroked the oil over him.

"Hold it tighter; like that, yes, it is part of the play," he said. I squeezed, and he began to thrust through my hand, one, two, three strokes. "Oh yes, that's good. Are you ready?"

I nodded and started to turn over again.

"Is that how your former clients took you?"

I tried to suppress the images that came to mind. "Yes."

"Well, then that's not what we will do. Lie on your back and bend your knees up." He knelt between my legs and gently parted them further with his hands. "All right, then. Take a deep breath."

At that he took himself in hand and eased within me. Oh, it hurt! I panicked. "Oromedon! Stop!"

"No," he said, "we're committed. Trust me, it'll get better." He pushed deeper, stopped and waited for my trembling to subside, then pulled out a bit, then in again, further. In this way, he was eventually seated deep within me, his groin pressed flush to my buttocks. I was impaled on him, stretched wide as if by a burning poker.

"Breathe," he intoned and began to thrust. As the action grew easier and more slippery, I could sense a change. A hot sensation was nudging me from deep inside, then building and spreading. Yes, it was better. Much better.

Looking up, I was arrested by the sight of my beautiful teacher; his arms braced on either side of me, rocking back and forth, the speed steadily increasing. He had closed his eyes, a look of rapture on his face. His lips were moist and red, parted. His long, curly hair spilled forward over his shoulders; his golden earrings swung gently back and forth; his chest glistened with sweat, rising and falling. He moaned softly, then again. His thrusts split me apart and filled me almost beyond bearing. But the sweetly hot sensation continued pulsing through me. Yes, I could get used to this.

"Ah, Gazelle Eyes," Oromedon groaned, "you feel so perfect; so wonderful."

A choir was singing in my ears.

He thrust harder with a sticky, percussive sound like river waves slapping against a boat. My whole body was ebbing and flowing, friction burning my back along the sheets.

Suddenly, he convulsed with a guttural cry; his hips snapped forward in the deepest thrust yet. He paused for a moment, his face contorted with pleasure, or pain. It seemed to be both. Hissing inward through his teeth, he shuddered, and then released his breath with an ahhh sound. Deep within, I felt him pulse. It thrilled me to my core to have given him such pleasure.

From his braced posture hanging over me, he toppled to my chest, where he rested unspeaking for a time. Then he began running a finger in little swirls around my nipples. I put my arms about him and combed my fingers through his hair. Sighing, he nuzzled my neck.

I noticed that the room was darkening and my fears were nudged awake. It was evening; I needed to light the lamps. I thought to keep him longer with questions.

"What does it feel like, Oromedon?"

He sighed. "How can I describe it? Like a flight of eagles. But it's only like that with the right person." He lifted his head, then sat up abruptly. "Oh, I didn't realize how late it was getting. See what you do to me, Beautiful? You make me forget my responsibilities. I had better go." He climbed out of the bed and strode over to the bath, dipped in a towel, and proceeded to wash himself. "Come here, and I'll clean you up," he called.

He was a shadowy presence in the darkened room. Panic clutched at my throat. He was leaving me! I didn't think I could spend another night alone in this room with my father's angry ghost. I went over to him and he held my hip with one hand as he gently washed me. The water was cool; it dripped down my legs and made me shiver. My rear end was tender, a void at my center, which he had briefly occupied. I drew on my trousers and then helped him put on his clothes. He seemed in a hurry.

"Come outside and see me off," he said. "How did I ever let it get so late? Careless of me. I swear Kaveh must have eaten the entire garden by now."

"Oromedon!" It burst from me; I had no control over the matter. "Please, can't you stay? Can't you stay for the night? Please?"  
He turned and gave me a kiss. "I'm afraid I can't. Besides, it would not be seemly."

"Please, I have fearful dreams. I don't want to be alone. You don't know. Please Meddi." I sank down on my knees and grasped his hand.

"Meddi," he repeated in a dull voice.

I shouldn't have called him by his brother's pet name. It had just slipped out. I could see the gleam of his earrings in the failing light. He pulled me to my feet. A line creased his brow. "Bagoas!" he said sharply, _ "You must never be importunate. Never, never, never, never. The quickest way to the dusty street outside."_ He grabbed hold of a lock of my hair and jerked it hard. I yelped in surprise and pain. _"I did that for your sake, to make you remember."_

I nodded. Tears started in my eyes as I turned away. How could I have thought of him as a lover? He had told me the truth all along, he was merely preparing me to be a plaything for another man. Just as he had been. Now that I look back on it, I realize how naive I was.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just trying to help you. Someday you'll know that." He was distressed; I heard it in his voice.

"I know it now," I said.

"Come," he enfolded me in his arms and kissed my forehead. "I can tell you there is nothing to fear. I'll help you light the lamps to chase away the shadows. The morning comes swiftly; I'll be back before you can blink."

It wasn't long until I watched him swing up onto his horse and ride out of the back gate, leaving me broken open, aching, and more alone than ever before.


	9. Thrall

_"There is the Light and the Dark, the Magus used to tell us, and all things that live have the power to choose."  
‑The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

I stood alone in the dark, staring at the lamplight, which flickered fitfully through the open door of the house. It seemed this was to be my life. So the young think when experience has taught them no better. But there was a light breeze and the garden smelled like green things still, even though everything was in greyed shadow. I repeated his words in my head, 'The morning comes swiftly; I'll be back before you can blink,' and thought, well, I just blinked, Oromedon, and you are not here.

Sighing and with nothing better to do, I went back inside. The room seemed dusty and abandoned, filled with the reminders of our day together. The dishes, covered with congealed sauce, were heaped carelessly on the low table, along with the wine cups. Wayward towels were draped over the edge of the tub. The sheets on the canopied bed were mussed. I slipped into them and breathed in his scent.

For a moment I indulged in a little fantasy.

The door flew open and there was Oromedon, 'Bagoas, I couldn't bear my life any more without you.' He swept me into his arms, kissing my lips. 'I've brought a horse for you. Come, we haven't a moment to lose, we're leaving.' 'Leaving?' I replied. 'Where to?' 'Back to my father's house. Balacrus the satrap is dead and my lands have been restored.' 'But won't our master be angry with us?' 'No, he has freed us both.' Then we pelted off into the night, thundering along Susa streets, soon to leave it all behind. The wind rushed against my face; the horse lunged forward beneath my thighs. I was delirious with happiness and freedom . . . and love.

That thought ended my daydream. I might as well admit it, I had fallen in love with Oromedon. I was disgusted with myself. I had to be a realist. I would earn my bread by my skill as a harlot. I shouldn't expect love. Never, never, never, never. Oromedon had told me as much. It was not his fault either; he was in the same position as I, powerless, thrall to the master's whims. Although there was a part of me still naive enough to blame him, as if he might have been able to do something different.

I heard a strange creak overhead and my heart jumped into my mouth. I really didn't like it here, didn't want to be so alone. It was probably just the house settling. Old houses do that sometimes. I remembered my father telling me that. My father . . . A shiver settled into my stomach.

"Well, Bagoas," I said aloud, "since you aren't sleepy, perhaps you can begin to earn your master's keep and do something useful."

I got up and made the bed, tucking the sheets in tightly. When done, I lingered for a moment, smoothed the coverlet and thought of Oromedon's supple body heavy on top of me as he kissed me with those delicious lips. Tomorrow in this bed, I would give him everything he wanted. More. No need to grieve just yet. He was mine for a little longer.

I straightened up the towels and the bath things, then turned my attention to the food dishes. Feeling hungry again, I ate the rest of the bread and scraped up the last of the sauce. I closed my eyes, allowing the taste to spread over my palate. I wanted to memorize it all; how it made me feel larger than myself, aching for something.

There was only a swallow of wine left and it didn't quench my sudden thirst. I decided to seek some water. I took one of the oil lamps, set it on the tray, and began navigating the maze of rooms. I vaguely remembered being led through them when I first came, just three days ago, but it seemed a lifetime gone. I passed through sad, deserted spaces filled with not much of consequence: a chest, spare pieces of furniture, and occasional wall hangings. Illuminated by my lamp, I was a brightness treading a slow path amidst the discarded, half‑seen shapes. The shadows grew and stretched, then slid away from me along the walls. To keep my mind from ghosts, I wondered about my master.

I knew he must be wealthy and influential. That much was obvious. He had first seen Oromedon at court, so he perhaps he was high up in the King's favor. He could be one of the King's advisors, perhaps, or a wealthy land‑owner. I knew also that he would be gentle and treat me well. Oromedon had said so and I believed him. There was still that matter of the scar on Oromedon's brow. I must ask him about that. But all in all, I should be thanking the gods for my good fortune at having been rescued from my former life. I should not be greedy and wish for more. Still I sighed.

I entered what seemed to be a large food preparation area. On the other side of the room was a door; I could see the light seeping around the cracks. There was a thump and then the clatter of a dish. I nearly dropped my own tray. Someone was in the next room. Majeed perhaps. Well, even his company would be preferable to solitude. I balanced the tray on one hand and pushed open the door with the other.

There was a slight exclamation, which was immediately checked. Standing near some wash tubs set on a long shelf against the wall was the Egyptian slave, looking very startled. He held a dish in one hand. For a long moment we stared at each other. Then his chin dipped and I caught a brief smile before his face became carefully neutral. He set down the dish with slow precision.

His black eyes were painted in the Egyptian manner with the long extension at the corners; his head was shaved, except for a braided queue hanging from the back. He wore only a white cotton loin cloth and a stone amulet on his chest. The dark olive skin of his face and chest had a glossy sheen from sweat, and indeed the room was stifling hot. He seemed young, maybe sixteen, and his face was shaved as well, but there was a slight darkening of his chin where the beard had come in. He was not a eunuch.

"Well, where can I set this?" I asked.

"There," he indicated a side table. "I thought you Majeed."

"That's what I thought about you." I put the tray down and the crockery rattled.   
He snorted. "Better that you are not him. Majeed is trouble. Nothing ever good enough. I run about all day. 'This not right. That still dirty,' he say. No time even to put feet up."

His Persian was heavily accented. He sat down on a bench, spreading his legs wide, and with a gesture indicated that I could sit as well. I looked around and located a stool, which I fetched and sat down upon, gingerly.

"Seneb," he said, with a quick tap to his chest.

"I beg your pardon," I replied.

"I am called Seneb," he said slowly, as if I were dense. "And you are Bagoas."

"Yes."

"Bad luck for name. You know of Bagoas the Vizier. Very bad eunuch. The Great King made him drink poisoned cup."

"In fact, I did hear of him. I am not he."

He was looking me over. "No, you are not. He was not so very pretty."

"You've seen him then?"

"Yes, I've been here," he paused and held up two fingers, "two years, a little more. Born in Thebes, sold by parents when quite young, I am not remember exactly how old. Sold to this one and that one, soon I finish up here." He shrugged. "At least this household you get enough to eat."

"Have you met our master?" If I was clever enough perhaps he might tell me who it was.

"Seen him from far two, three times. Not important enough to get so close. But I am thinking you will see him very close up. Very." He passed his eyes over me again and then twitched the cloth at his crotch as if he were adjusting the fit. I didn't like it.

"I think that is not for you to speculate about."

His eyes flicked sideways. He lowered his head and showed his teeth in a bare smile. One of them was black. "Why are you out so late? Not in bed?" he inquired.

"I wanted a drink of water and perhaps some company."

"So you find Seneb." He laughed happily. "Is good. Come. Bring lamp."

He led me into the next room where there were rows of large ceramic jars along the wall. Removing the lid from a jar, he unhooked a ladle from the wall and dipped it in. Then he turned and offered me a drink. He stood nearby as I gulped down the water which tasted sweetly of clay. I wiped my chin with the back of my hand, having nothing better. Seneb offered me another dipperful, and while I was drinking, he found a little towel hanging on a rack. When I was done, he took the towel and tenderly patted my lips dry with it. He seemed friendly and so I permitted it. Truth be told, I liked the comfort of the gesture.

He smiled, then poured some water onto the towel and applied it to his face, rubbing it over his cheeks and forehead. Looking deliberately into my eyes, he passed the towel slowly across his chest. Then, he offered it to me. "You want?" he asked. I shook my head. It was increasingly warm in the room even though I was wearing only my sleeveless tunic and cotton trousers.

"In the garden is cooler, do you think?" Seneb suggested.

I found myself following him through a door into a little side garden, quite hidden from the rest of the house by a high brick wall. I had never seen this place before. The air was cooled by the prolific plant growth and I was grateful for it. The moon, nearly full, rode high up in the sky, casting shadows. Seneb went to the wall and pulled out a loose brick, then reached in and removed something. I couldn't see what it was until he brought it over to me. A pipe. The earthy smell of kif reached my nostrils.

"Time to put feet up," Seneb said. He settled down on crossed legs. I set my lamp down on the step and sat next to him. He found a stick on the ground, poked it into the lamp flame, and brought it flaring to the pipe. Inhaling a long draught, he held his breath, and offered the pipe to me.

I shook my head. "It makes me sick."

He shrugged, then puffed some more. The familiar scent rose and drifted about us. Closing my eyes, I tried not to remember. It actually seemed pleasant to be sitting outside in a cool garden, with a companion of sorts, close to my age. I didn't want to spoil it with nightmares. I leaned back against the wall.

"Seneb, do you know where my quarters will be?" I asked.

He shrugged. "No one says these things. You find out when they are ready."

"Well then, could you tell me our master's name. They told me, but I have forgotten."

His eyes widened; he wagged his finger at me. "Majeed said, 'Don't tell this new eunuch anything.' I am not wish to get a beating."

Frustrated, I exclaimed, "I can't imagine why everyone is being so secretive. It is maddening."

"When our lives in the hands of those greater, we obey, not question," Seneb said. "This I learn through bad experience." I heard in his words an echo of what Majeed had said and thought that at least Seneb had heeded something from the old eunuch. The pipe glowed and for a moment his face was lit strangely under his nose and cheekbones. We sat in silence as he smoked. The smell was making me sleepy. Shifting a little, I noticed that my thighs were sore from riding that day. My nether region was sore as well. It made me remember how it felt to have Oromedon deep inside me and I couldn't help the secret smile that formed.

"Do you know Oromedon?" I asked.

He set the spent pipe down and also leaned against the wall. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He put his arms behind his head and stretched, arching his bare chest. "No, would like to, though." He grinned at me. The whites of his eyes seemed bright in the gloom. "He was the k . . . . " he stopped and cleared his throat, "master's favorite, they say, since before I come. Then, maybe one year ago, he fell from horse and broke his head, here," he gestured at his forehead. "After that, no more favorite. Is too bad. Still pretty, I think."

I eagerly listened to this revelation. Oromedon hadn't told me that part. Our master likes perfection, he'd said. It made sense now.

"This Oromedon, do you think he is pretty?" Seneb asked.

I nodded briefly.

"So I thought." He nodded. "When we brought lunch, it seemed you and him were close. Yes? That you like him, perhaps?"

"Yes, I like him." I should not have been so forthright, but it was eating me up inside and the opportunity to talk about it, when presented, was irresistible.

"You make him feel good," Seneb said. "I heard him while you do it." His tongue flicked out and moistened his lips.

The conversation was becoming too intimate; I shifted uneasily.

Seneb trailed a finger up my thigh. "Maybe you could like me too," he suggested.

I stood up. "I think I had better go to bed. Thank you for your hospitality. If you will excuse me."

He stood as well. "No, don't go, Bagoas!" He stuttered over my name. "Pretty Bagoas, I think of you all day. When you come tonight to kitchen, I think is gift from gods." He put an arm on either side of me against the wall and I cringed away from him. "Please, you to make me feel good and I will do for you also." He pressed his body to mine and I could feel the ridge at his groin. His breath smelled heavily of kif.

In a rush, all my former encounters came back, along with that helpless, desperate feeling. I could not move or speak. Seneb took that as acquiescence and sought to kiss me. His lips pressed clumsily up against mine. They didn't feel right. They weren't the ones I wanted.

Suddenly anger flared through me. I shoved him hard enough to push him backwards and he fell abruptly on his rear. His face twisted in surprise; he scrambled up, and took a hesitant step toward me. It was then that I remembered who I was: Bagoas, son of Artembares. And now I had a powerful master who would not like his belongings trifled with. My pride and sense of self‑preservation united.

"Do you think me a common whore?" I cried.

His mouth flew open and he seemed to visibly shrink.

"When I am with our master, should I tell him how you disgraced me?"

I had not reckoned on the effect that would have. With a look of terror, he threw himself to the ground, clasped my legs, and began talking rapidly in his own language. Then he kissed my bare feet, which disgusted me. Amidst the babbling, I heard him say, "Spare me. I meant nothing. Please."

It took me a while to calm him down, and even longer to extricate my legs from his frantic grip. I was elated with a sudden sense of power, the like of which I had never known before. Sternly and magnanimously (as befitted my new station), I promised that I would not reveal his indiscretion, but he must never touch me again. He nodded vehemently and I left him there, still crouched on the ground.

As I walked to my room, the shadows seemed to draw back from me as if I were Someone now. I reveled in this new‑found authority until it occurred to me that perhaps he was as lonely as I, and had sought merely to connect with me in the only way he knew.

*********************   
That night I had a dream. I knelt beside a pool and saw a beautiful young man staring back at me with a gazelle's immense eyes; but it was not me. Then the water rippled, spreading out as if a stone had been dropped into it, distorting the face. Indistinctly another face with kohl‑lined eyes and glittering earrings appeared. I reached for it, but it shimmered into nothing.

I heard a tearing scream. With a start, I looked over my shoulder just in time to see a mighty eagle, wings folded back as he stooped. A sudden blow smote me to the ground. Iron claws curled into my belly with an indescribable pain. I was snatched aloft, gasping like a fish.

The wings beat with the sound of a heavy cloak snapping in a gale. Diminishing below me were my home and all that I had known, but suddenly I was not afraid. The eagle lifted me up to his back. I gripped his soft feathers, felt the power of his surging body. We reached the heights, soaring near the Sun's chariot. Pain gave way to elation. I was flying and it was the most delirious feeling in the world.


	10. Transformation

_"Till now, as I found, he had been like the musician who takes up an unknown harp or lyre, testing its resonance. Now lessons began in earnest."  
‑The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

I awoke to birdsong outside my window and it drew me to go and sit in the garden. Settling down amidst some tall grass, I hugged my knees to my chest, and decided to wait for him here rather than indoors like a helpless servant.

To the east, the rising sun had tinged the sky a uniform apricot‑gold. A group of nondescript brown birds were busily hopping about. Periodically and with incomprehensible timing, the whole lot would swoop off over the wall to jabber at each other in some distant trees, then just as suddenly soar back. I had never attended much to birds before but since my dream last night, I found my interest piqued. What I wouldn't give to be one of these insignificant little brown creatures, free to fly over the wall anytime I wished.

After a time, I heard a steady clop of hooves. Then the gate at the far end of the garden opened with a rusty screech and there he was ‑ leading his chestnut gelding. I couldn't stop the somersault my heart made, as much as I wanted to. It's strange how complicated emotions can be. Although I rejoiced at his arrival, I also wanted to shove him away and indulge my pain. So I kept still. He wasn't looking at me, his attention was bent toward the house; I had the opportunity to watch him unobserved. He moved like a pouring of fine wine, lithe and silky. Today he was wearing a sleeveless garnet‑coloured tunic and tan trousers. I admired the curves of his biceps, not overly large, but still suggesting strength. No one could mistake him for a girl, however pretty his face and slender his build. One of his earrings caught the morning light as he turned and his glance fell on me. He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, so there you are, Bagoas."

He tied a rein to a tree, hung up the woven bag he'd carried over his shoulder, and then came over. I looked up at him and didn't say anything. He gave me a tentative smile but his brow was creased. "Up early? How was your night?"

"I slept."

He dropped down next to me and crossed his legs. "Indeed? There were no bad dreams, then?"

"Not bad ones."

"Ah, strange ones, the kind that make you think all day. I can see it in your face. Those are the ones that matter, you know. Do you want to tell me about it?" His thigh grazed mine with a comforting warmth. His perfume was different today: bitter notes of myrrh mixed with sweet roses. A perfect combination for him. I found myself breathing it in deeply and it made me ache inside. Seneb hadn't made me feel this way, not even for a moment.

"Why do you care about my dreams?" I asked. It sounded petulant, I admit.

He seemed hurt. "Do you think I don't?"

I looked back at the birds. "I don't know what to think."

"Gazelle Eyes," he said gently, "I am working within the same constraints as you. You know that." As much as I was trying to harden my heart, I found I couldn't. The sound of his voice was high and clear, underlain with a rich timbre, like an aged wooden flute. It vibrated within my chest. I wanted to hold him and feel it thrum against my body. We sat for a while in silence. He was plucking at bits of grass, then he said, "For what it is worth, I am sorry if I was harsh with you last night. I only want things to go well for you."

Staring at my hands folded in my lap, I said, "No need to apologize. I deserved it. I know what you were trying to do. I know everything." This last came out scratchy as if something had caught in my throat.

"Of course you do. You are a clever boy. My most brilliant apprentice." This time he smiled broadly with a teasing squeeze of the eyes and an entrancing flash of teeth. The charmer!

"And you, Oromedon, are a flatterer of the worst sort."

"The worst sort am I? How would you know? You haven't yet been prey to my full wickedness." He was grinning now.

"Nor you to mine," I declared and lunged at him, knocking him over in the grass. We wrestled and rolled and then he was on top of me, a welcome weight.

"I have you at my mercy now," he said.

"So, you think," I replied and began tickling him. He wriggled and fell away from me, laughing, and I was able to twist out from under him, then pitch him backwards. I straddled his hips and pinned his arms down. A scent of crushed grass rose about us.

"You are going to wreck my clothes," he said with a smile. "Then you'll have to pay for new ones."

"I'll be a rich man's consort; I'll be able to afford them."

"Yes, but by then you'll have forgotten about me," he laughed.

Suddenly serious, I said, "Never!"

He shook his head. "Never is too long a word."

I savoured the harmony of his handsome features: the contrasted architecture of a strong bridging nose with delicately arched cheekbones, and wide, kohl‑framed eyes. To my mind, the scar scissoring across his brow gave him a warrior's distinction. It seemed unjust that our master had put him aside because of it. A lock of hair had come loose from its clasp and hung down over his shoulder, the hennaed ends of the curls glowing a dull red. Between my thighs, his body felt so substantial and present. He was shifting under me, subtly flexing his loins up against mine. He was the epitome of everything desirable.

When I hesitated, he said, "Well, Beautiful, you're on top now. What are you going to do about it? Make it decisive. When our Master wants a boy, he doesn't want a passive partner. He can find enough of that in his harem." His eyes shimmered invitation.

There was only one answer to that. I bent and took his mouth, kissing him with all the passion and frustration I had felt last night when he left me. I thought our lips would be crushed before I was done. At the same time I rubbed my shaft hard against his, trying to make him come right through the cloth. He began to writhe and moan but I didn't let up until, finally, for want of air, we broke apart with hissing gasps.

Trailing his fingertips down my cheek, he said,"That's what I want, a forceful lover. You really are bewitching."

He had called me his lover. I felt myself glowing. Blissfully, I allowed him to roll me over and then to kiss me slowly and thoroughly with a sweet authority that I could have only dreamed about before. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on his sensitive lips, the stroke of his tongue, the whisper of his breath. All was forgiven. I knew he was telling me that he felt affection too, he just couldn't say it. Finally he drew back and I opened my eyes. "Oromedon?"

"Yes, Beautiful?"

I don't mean to be ungrateful," I said. "It's just . . ."

"I know. You chafe at our lot in this life. Don't worry, you are strong. You'll do fine." He sat up. "So, are you ready for a riding lesson? Kaveh's waiting for you. See him over there with nothing better to do than to devour that entire tree? Come then, before he starts in on the roses and Majeed has another reason to dislike me."

Despite my protesting muscles, I spent the morning trying to improve my form and my control of the horse. Toward the end, I stopped fighting, relaxed into it, and did better. As a reward, Oromedon let me gallop through the fruit trees that lined the back of the garden. How wonderful to feel that powerful body driving like thunder under me! I leaned forward, gripping the mane, and the rush of warm wind against my face recalled my dream. Oromedon seemed pleased when I skidded to a stop near him, and leapt off the horse's back, my face heated with exhilaration.

"Excellent! We'll make a rider of you yet," he declared.

Afterwards, Oromedon put me in the bath and waited on me quite formally as if I were the Master. I watched him carefully, noting how he moved things, keeping what he needed in easy reach. While he was toweling me dry, Majeed and Seneb appeared with our dinner. Seneb's expression was sullen. I could tell he was watching me under lowered eyelids but his glance flinched away whenever I looked directly at him. He did not speak at all.

Later while we were reclining half‑naked on the cushions, Oromedon mentioned it. "Whatever was the matter with that Egyptian slave? He seemed a different boy from the one who was eating you up with his eyes yesterday."

I set my wine cup down. "I ran into him last night in the kitchen. He had certain . . . misconceptions about me and we had to come to an understanding."

"Ah," Oromedon said. He popped a large, purple grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a while. Then he said, "Most likely that won't be the last time that others will have 'misconceptions' about you. I'm sure I don't have to say it, but I will. You must be careful to avoid those entanglements as they'll only be cause for trouble or worse. As long as you're in favor . . . well, you must understand, Bagoas, that large households are full of intrigue. Everyone jostles for position. You must keep faith as best you can and not involve yourself in scandal. Try not to make enemies. And never, ever conspire against your Master for any reason. You do understand, don't you?"

I nodded. He was so earnest that I felt little butterflies of nervousness. What had I gotten into?

Then his face relaxed, and he gave me that charming smile. "You have yet to discover your own seductive power, my dear. When you do, you will be a dangerous man."

"I don't see myself as dangerous," I said, trying to emulate his smile.

"Remember what I told you? Imagining it is the first step." He plucked another grape off its stem and turned it round in his fingers. "You are like this grape, juicy, and sweet, just waiting to be savoured." Slowly and deliberately, he ran the grape along parted lips. His tongue flicked out, caressed it lightly, and then curled about it. I could feel a slow warmth begin building in my loins.

"Try and take it from me," he mumbled around the mouthful. For a moment I wondered what he meant, but then he lay back against the cushion in a languid motion and opening his mouth, flashed the grape at me teasingly.

I bent down, pressed my mouth to his and attempted to wrestle it away with my tongue. He rolled it about, keeping it from me, hiding it in the corners of his mouth. Gods take him but his tongue was agile. I giggled. The next moment he pushed the grape into my mouth, then before I could seize the advantage, he sucked it out again, playing with me. Attempting to regain it, I inhaled, and with a sudden pop, it jumped to the back of my throat, and lodged there.

I choked.

He gave my back a resounding slap and the grape flew out and splattered against the wall. In consternation, I stared at the purple splotch now oozing its way toward the floor.

"Are you all right?" he asked. His lips were working against laugher.

I nodded, coughing.

"Well, I don't recommend trying that on your Master. Not very erotic, especially if you choke to death in the midst of lovemaking."

Laughter burst from me. "No, I'd guess that wouldn't be good."

"I can just imagine it," he said with a grin, "my Master would say to me, 'So, what happened to that new eunuch you were training?' 'Oh, I killed him,' I'd reply. 'How did you manage that?' he would ask. 'With a grape,' I'd say."

"Oromedon, the great assassin," I laughed. "No need for such subtleties as poison. He has bits of fruit at his command."

His laugher redoubled and presently the two of us were pressed shoulder to shoulder against the wall, shaking with mirth. It felt so wonderful. When had I last laughed like that?

Finally, he turned to me, still chuckling. "This is good, Beautiful. Love‑making is not supposed to be too serious. A courtesan should be charming and playful. But the analogy holds true, you are as luscious as the grape, but also could be dangerous in your way. Here," at this he reached over and pulled off another grape which he placed in his teeth. "Try again."

I pressed my lips to his, deftly knocked the grape free with my tongue, and ate it. He laughed and then we paused for a long beat and looked at each other. With a breath‑taking swiftness, our lips crashed together. I pulled him down onto the cushions, my blood humming with the feel of his lithe body in my arms. I rocked against him and kissed down his throat, tonguing the throb of his pulse in the hollow. He sighed, "You are delightful."

My lips explored along the wings of his collar bones and then down over his chest. They discovered the tender circles of his nipples and fluttered around them. He moaned and I licked, feeling them tighten under my tongue. I hadn't done that to him before and found it appealing. I swirled my tongue around one fleshy little berry as I sucked it in. He inhaled a shuddering breath and flexed backward, a reaction wonderful to watch. I moved to the other nipple. He reached over and pinched both of mine. I replied in kind, both of us pinching harder and harder until, with a yelp, I surrendered and released his captive flesh.

Grinning, he moved back and contemplated my chest while he rubbed his thumb over my now tender swellings. "I used to wonder why the creator gave these to men," he said. "They seemed so useless. Then one day, I really looked at another man's chest, one of the palace guards. He was delightfully muscular and shiny with oil. His nipples were large and rosy, with a tiny bead in the center. I thought how beautifully they decorated his chest, like jewelry, and then I saw their value. From then on, I couldn't get enough of them. Did you ever notice how many different sizes and shapes there are?"

"I never really thought about it before. Perhaps you are right." I gave his nipple a final kiss while sliding my hand down and teasing his member through the thin cotton of his trousers. It jumped in my hand. "This is something else I never considered beautiful before I met you," I said. Taking him between thumb and fingers, I stroked lightly and his breathing quickened. "Lift your hips," I said. He did and I stripped his trousers off, flung them away, and he did likewise for me.

Bending to lick what was revealed, I relished the taste that was uniquely his own. He said, "Yes, that's nice." I opened my mouth to take him inside but he put his hand gently to my forehead. "Hold a moment."

I looked up at him. He wriggled down my body, curled his hand around my shaft, stroked it lightly, and said, "This is a man's center of pleasure and focus as well as a source of pride. It's always good to approach it with awe. A slight gasp when you first touch it works very well, as if you've never seen anything so magnificent before."

"You're joking."

"Would I joke about something this serious?" he replied. Then he spoke in a falsetto. "My dear Bagoas, you're so huge! A camel would be envious!"

The laugh came straight from my belly. "And so I learn the art of flattery and deception," I said.

"Very good skills to have," he said, with a wink. "Here, I'll show you. Go on, lie back and watch."

He kissed down my abdomen, then paused with a slight intake of breath as he looked at my shaft. His eyes, grown wide, darted up to meet mine. There was a pause and then he whispered, "Oh Master, it's magnificent. May I?"

I nodded solemnly, trying hard not to laugh. His eyes lowered again. He slid his hand around my organ in reverential fashion, then began stroking slowly. His head dipped lower as if he were drawn against his will and he kissed the head. It twitched in response. He licked a long stripe up and then back down, looked soulfully up into my eyes again, and gently bit his lower lip. By the gods, he was good; I began to laugh.

"You should have been an actor," I said.

"It was that bad?"

"No, that good. I'm not sure I can do all that. I'd feel, well, not right about it, not natural."

He rubbed a thumb over my hipbone. "It's all an act, Gazelle Eyes, a performance for your Master. You are totally dependent on his favor so you must pretend you are enjoying it, whether you are or not. You must be convincing. For our kind, there is no such thing as not feeling in the mood, or being angry, or sad. That's for the privacy of your own room. When you are entertaining, you are a professional. That's what he expects."

I nodded, feeling somewhat embarrassed for my earlier fit of pique. He pulled me over and kissed me. "Go ahead and try it on me. I promise to pretend to like it." There was that sly look. I laughed and hit him in the arm.

"Oh, you are such a beast," he said in that humorous, high‑pitched voice.

"How can I do this, if you're going to make me laugh?"

"Just remember Bagoas, you are a professional. No laughing at your master's expense." Then, just as I bent down to take him in my mouth, he made a terrible face.

"It would serve you right if I bit you," I said.

"Then I'd be unable to continue your lesson." He rested his hand against my rear, then tickled a finger back and forth along the cleft, which truth be told, felt very good. He said, "Bring your legs around up here and then mirror what I do. If you get close to culmination, tap me and I'll stop."

We lay on our sides, arms wrapped around each other's waists, nestled head to groin, each buried between the other's legs. It was a position I hadn't conceived of before ‑ a mutual pleasuring which now seemed natural. Somehow I knew that this was another thing I would never show my new master. Oh, but Oromedon's mouth churning upon me was a work of art, like an ascending scale played upon a silver harp. I did my best to imitate what he did, and after a while, he let me slip from his mouth as he groaned, "Oh yes, Beautiful, that's very good." Moaning deliciously, he thrust hard down my throat and came. I felt my gorge rise and pulled off emitting a little choking sound.

He lay still for a moment, breathing hard, then turned around so that we were aligned again, chest to chest. He cupped my face between his hands, kissed me, and then said very gently, "You had this difficulty the other day, too."

"I think it persists from my recent employment," I whispered. "It always gagged me. I tried to cover it up but . . . " The shame came back to burn my face.

"Oh, well then, we must cure it, that's all," he said lightly. He got up from the cushions, crossed the room, and retrieved the woven bag he'd brought. With his typical dramatic flair, he plunged his hand down into it and brought up a long, white object. When I looked more carefully, I could feel myself blush. It was a large penis, carved from ivory with precise anatomical detail.

"One of the harem women, a friend of mine, gave me this," Oromedon said. "I'm not sure what she thought I'd do with it, given that our Master is not very experimental, but it does have its uses. Astonishing, isn't it, the number of ways we humans can find to vary love‑making." He licked up the side and then put the whole thing deeply in his mouth. As he drew it back out, his throat flexed slightly, and I experienced a strange thrill. "I want you to practice with this," he said. "Try it at night. Go slowly, but keep pushing it deeper and relax your throat until you can do it without gagging."

I looked at him skeptically.

"It'll work, you'll see," he said. "And look what else I brought you." He set the lingam aside and dug into the bag to remove some objects which he placed on the table. There were two small, cylindrical alabaster jars, corked shut, and a glass vial, and two leather bags, one longer than the other. He picked up the smaller bag and handed it to me. I untied it and shook the contents into my hand: two golden earrings formed like hoops with three knuckle‑length strands dangling from them. Small lapis beads decorated the two side strands, but the longer center piece ended with an tiny, exquisitely crafted bird in flight.

A soft 'oh' escaped me. "Are these for me?"

"Yes, yours to keep. I thought they'd look good with your bronze hair."

"Thank you, but Oromedon, my ears are not pierced."

"We can remedy that, if you like. All courtesans should wear ornaments. They will enhance your attractiveness and make you look more valuable."

"Yes, I would like that," I said eagerly.

He opened the larger leather bag and removed a bone awl which he set on the low table. Picking up the discarded cork from the wine bottle, he set that next to it. Finally, he opened the vial of amber colored liquid, poured some of it on a cloth, then wiped the damp material on either side of my earlobes.

"What is that?"

"Olive leaf extract. The Egyptians use this in their embalming process and for medicines. They say it helps healing. If the holes fester, you can put some more on them. That usually does it. Lie down now and hold this." He set the cork behind my earlobe and I reached up to hold it in place. Then he picked up the sharp awl.

"Will it hurt much?" I asked.

"After what we've been through, this will seem like nothing," he replied. "Hold very still now."

I felt a pinch along with a crunching sound, and suddenly my earlobe was very hot. He pushed the awl deeper, rotated it about, then reached for the earring. His fingertips pressed against my earlobe and then I heard a faint metal snap. "There," he said, turning my head slightly, "Looks good. Now for the other one."

Once done, I sat up and fingered the hanging strands. Both lobes felt fiery hot and pulled by an unaccustomed weight.

"Of course these are small earrings which you must wear until the holes heal. Then you can try heavier ones, like mine."

I started to get up.

"Where are you going?"

"To look in the mirror in the next room."

"There's more. You should wait to see the full effect."

I settled back down and looked at him inquisitively. He smiled, then shook the bag until a small bone stick fell out. It looked much like the awl but had a rounded end.

"Oh, a wand for kohl," I said. "I used to help my former mistress apply this."

"Then you know how to do it?" He uncorked two of the little alabaster pots. "This one is olive oil and that one is the kohl."

"Yes, but I never used it on myself before."

"I'll help you."

He dipped the stick in the olive oil and then rolled the end in the cylindrical kohl container. I squinted and he gently ran the stick between my upper and lower lashes along my eyeball. It burned slightly and I had to restrain myself from blinking. He dabbed at the corner of my eye with the rag, applied the kohl on the other side, and sat back to admire his handiwork. He touched one side up a little and then exclaimed, "Lovely! Gazelle Eyes, you are stunning!"

Again, he reached into the bag, pulled out a small polished silver mirror with a slender handle, and gave it to me. "Here, look at yourself."

I looked and gasped. This exotic, sensual creature with immense dark‑rimmed eyes and glittering earrings was not me. This was the vision from my dream the previous night. I turned my head from side to side, pleased but also disquieted.

"It, it doesn't seem like me."

"This is the new you ‑ a bewitching seducer of men. The transformation is complete. No one can resist you now, Gazelle Eyes, least of all me." He stood up. "Come to bed."

Under the great canopy and dappled by the fitful light from the green‑vined window, we wrestled to an ancient rhythm. First he led and then it was me ‑ a dance of equals. He turned on his side holding me close, while he slipped in and out between my thighs. I began to undulate slowly. "Yes, that's it," he whispered in my ear, "you are the most beautiful, sexiest boy I have ever seen. Our master will be most pleased." I kissed him and our tongues met and entwined.

He was panting a little as he pulled away from my mouth. "I could culminate this way," he said, "but I think your delicious rear needs some more experience." He squeezed one of my buttocks, then an oiled finger began searching down my cleft and breached me gently. I was relaxed and it hardly burned. He moved the finger in and out while whispering delightful nonsense in my ear, then turned me over on my stomach and I felt his organ nudging against me. There was a slight adjustment and he was inside me, a hard, foreign fact. Grunting, I tried wriggling about to become better seated. It still hurt but perhaps not as much as yesterday and in any case the pain was welcome; I wanted him so much. With him, the possession seemed intimate and loving. My breath was coming quicker now, matching his.

I thrust back against him. "Oromedon, I like a forceful lover."

He laughed. "My pleasure," he said and began thrusting more vigorously. He wrapped his arms about my chest and bit the top of my ear. The pace increased; his hips thumping against my buttocks, his sweat‑dampened chest slipping along my back. We rocked together and it was the sweetest collaboration I'd ever known. He finally reached his peak with a shuddering gasp. The sound seemed to reach into my heart and I could almost feel some sort of release, like the pop of a spark flying from a fire that dies in scattered bits upon the floor.

Afterwards, he turned me around to face him. I sighed and snuggled down into his arms. He rested his chin on top of my head and we stayed like that for a long time. The only sounds were the tandem thumping of our hearts and the occasional chirp of a bird outside the eaves. He began stroking my hair. "Bagoas, I've thought about it. I would really like it, in fact I would be honored, if you would call me Meddi."

I raised my head to look into his eyes.

"Your brother's pet name, but I thought . . ."

"I'm sorry I reacted so strongly when you said it yesterday. At the time it hurt, but later I realized that it hurt in a good way. I should never have rebuked you for such a loving gesture. I miss him, Bagoas."

"Meddi," I said softly and kissed him.


	11. Leaving the Garden

_"Don't build upon the wind, Gazelle Eyes. That is the last of my lessons. May you not be too young to bear it . . ."  
The Persian Boy,_ Mary Renault

 

The room was slowly darkening toward twilight on the ninth day since Oromedon had begun my training. We lay on the bed, he on his back and I curled along his side, our legs still entwined in the companionable languor after love‑making. This time was for us and not for some theoretical lover.

Oromedon had taught me more ways than I could imagine how to pleasure the body: how to tease it up and soothe it down, how to sense moods and change technique accordingly, how to delay and prolong culmination to make a man beg for relief. He said, "Because culmination feels so good, many men want to forgo most of the preliminaries and go right to the crux of the matter. That can be enjoyable on occasion, but Vaju showed me that a long, slow build results in the greater pleasure. If you tease your partner along into it, he will find himself overcome with the result, and you will have him in the palm of your hand." Then he showed me how to do it. The tempo of this dance steadily increased to reach a peak, and then dropped back, only to accelerate again, each episode bringing one to a higher plateau of feeling, the time between bouts gradually lessening until there was only ecstasy. When I finally allowed him to come, he trembled and howled and couldn't catch his breath. It was magnificent.

Yesterday, he'd said, "Unfortunately, some things I'm not equipped to show you,"and then brought out two ripe plums and had me practice squeezing and mouthing them. "Our Master likes this," he'd said. "Be gentle and firm at the same time."

Today he had devoted to showing me the more acrobatic positions in his repertoire and now I was sore in places I didn't know I had before. I was content just to lie next to him.

He too was quiet, pensively staring at the ceiling. His mood made me apprehensive. As each day passed, I wondered when he would decide it was enough and leave me forever. I had even gone so far as to pretend I still had the gagging problem but, in fact, nightly exercise with the lingam had banished it. I don't think he was fooled.

His face, usually so animated, was now impassive. I traced a finger along his collar bone to get his attention. "Was it good, Meddi?"

He turned to look at me and then smiled slightly. "Of course. I told you before, you have a gift."

"How much longer until you leave?"

"Are you anxious to be rid of me? Perhaps you have a secret lover waiting?"

"Oh, of course, Oromedon, that's it ‑ a secret lover." I pushed at his arm softly, like a puppy nosing for attention. "You know what I meant."

"I'll continue to teach you until you are ready," he said.

"When will that be?"

"I don't know, but soon. You are nearly there." He sat up and stretched. "I'm late again. I must be off." He leaned over and held my chin for a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Where do you hurry off to every evening?"

"I have obligations."

"But you told me that you were no longer in favor, so they can't be obligations to our Master."

"You are impertinent and nosy," he said, but his tone was fond.

"Yes, you should know that about me by now." I gave him my most charming smile and watched his face soften. My fingers moved lower to play with one of his nipples. I had questions to ask him, things that worried me. "Does it bother you that you are no longer in favor?"

He looked back at the ceiling. "At first my pride was wounded, but when I got over that, I realized how lucky I was. I am still provided for and have few duties. And those that I do have are quite pleasant." He leaned over to kiss me again, and I opened my mouth to him. After a few moments, he pulled away.

"Do you resent me because I will take your place?" I asked.

"How could I resent you? None of this is by your choice."

"I know, but resentment is not rational."

He looked at me searchingly. "Sometimes the wisest things come from those tender young lips. Perhaps Vaju was right and we have lived former lives. He would have said that you have an old soul."

"An old soul? Maybe it's just that I've become old before my time. I had to grow up in one night, and then learn to survive, just as you did. But you did not answer my question."

"No, I do not resent you now, but I soon shall, if you don't let me get up." He tweaked my nose, climbed off the bed, and put on his clothes. While he was catching his horse in the garden, I slipped on my trousers, then followed him to the gate as I had become accustomed to doing.

"Meddi," I said, and he turned to look at me.

"If I did have a choice, I would still choose to spend this time with you."

"So would I," he said.

Saying goodbye to him had not become any easier; each time it was like dying a little death. I held the gate open and watched him vault up onto Kaveh's back and disappear down the narrow alley and around the corner at a steady trot. I sighed and turned to go back through the gate, when down the street, I heard a call and the hoof beats came to an abrupt halt. Ordinarily, I would have paid no attention but I caught Oromedon's name amidst the words.

Oromedon had said I was nosy. It was to serve me well in later years. Without even thinking about it, I closed the gate and then padded bare‑foot down the street and peered around the corner of the high garden wall.

Oromedon had dismounted and was standing near a young man gifted with handsome, rough‑cut features, a tall, muscular body, and a proud bearing. The remaining sunlight picked up glints of metal sheathed at his side. A soldier. His curly dark beard and deep voice proclaimed him intact. At first, I thought he was assaulting Oromedon as his hand had a tight purchase on my tutor's shoulder. I opened my mouth to yell but then saw my error; theirs was the stance of intimates. I hated the usurper, instantly.

"Jamshid and Parviz wouldn't wait any longer and so they sent me to fetch you. The party has already started," he was saying.

"It will go all night," Oromedon replied, "there's no harm done if we arrive late. I need to stable Kaveh and bathe and dress first."

"Oromedon, my sweet fig, you remember that there's a new dancing boy at Gazsi's place. Jamshid claims he's very pretty. We were all going there first."

"You could go on ahead, if you like. I am rather tired." Oromedon's high, melodic voice wove in a counterpoint to the deeper one of his companion.

The man's jaw flexed sideways. "Tired? What can it take to teach a young catamite how to perform? When is this job over anyway? I tire of waiting for you every evening. You didn't take this long with the other two."

"And the other two were quickly rejected, weren't they? I want this boy to be perfect. His case requires finesse; he was treated roughly before."

"Haven't we all been at one time or another? Why should it matter? Teach him your tricks and be done with it." He reached around Oromedon and seized his rear in both hands, pulling him close. The horse started and tossed his head. The man growled, "I don't like sharing you with anyone, even a eunuch, and I don't care who has commanded you to do it."

"Hush that kind of talk," Oromedon replied, but he had relaxed into the embrace and was moving his hips against the man. I recognized that particular grinding motion: it was guaranteed enticement. "We are all under his command, you not the least," Oromedon purred in his most seductive tone. "I'll make it up to you, Tooraj, my love. You know I can. Do you want it to be before or after my bath?"

The young man grinned and then they were laughing against each other's lips in that intimate way lovers do when they know sex is imminent. Oromedon's hand snaked down to the man's groin. I could see his elbow moving. Soon the man tilted his head back and gasped; his throat apple bobbed, silhouetted against the failing light. "Blessed gods, how do you do that? You're a magus, you are. I want you so badly."

Oromedon's laughter was teasing. Tooraj pushed him back against the wall and thrust against him as if he intended to take Oromedon through his clothes. He reminded me of some of my former clients: all raw power, no art or subtlety at all. Next to him, Oromedon was elegant and sophisticated, a blooded racer standing alongside a heavy warhorse. Oromedon draped his arms about his lover's neck.

"If you take care of Kaveh while I bathe," he said in that sly tone I knew so well, "I will be able to take care of you all the sooner."

"How can I remain annoyed when you offer such a bargain?" The man's voice lowered to a moan, "I ache for you. I can't help it. I think about you all day long, while standing guard, while drilling in the practice arena. I think about your lovely eyes and your supple mouth and your firm little arse. You have bewitched me." His wide lips engulfed Oromedon's mouth.

Oromedon pushed him away gently. "Not here, love. You must be more discreet or it's both our necks."

And then they were gone. I listened to the diminishing clop of Kaveh's hooves.

For a time I stood there stricken and then a great wailing began in my heart. He had betrayed me! He had led me to believe that he loved me and it was not so; he had someone else. I wanted to feel the weight of a blade in my hands connecting with flesh. I wanted to leave both of them bleeding on the ground.  
I fled back to my room in a blind rage, and looked for something to destroy. Grabbing the empty wine flagon from the low table, I flung it against the wall, followed with the ceramic dish covers and the metal plates, which hit the wall with a shivering clang. I overturned chairs, flung cushions, tore the sheets off the bed and trampled them on the floor. Then overwhelmed with anguish, I sank down into them and began sobbing, leaving dark kohl smudges on the linen.

********************  
The shadows were long in the overgrown garden, but it smelled green and wet and peaceful ‑ a bit of paradise. I walked barefoot through the soft grass, searching for a rose to give him, to show him what he meant to me. A heavy cascade of red blossoms climbed up the wall where I had never seen them before. They filled the air with a bitter perfume. I brushed my finger against the soft petals and then bent and twisted the stem of the largest flower, trying to snap it off. With a little shock of pain, I felt a sharp prick in my thumb. Foolish! Why hadn't I remembered the thorns? I sucked my finger, tasting my blood's iron‑sweet tang.

I heard someone whistling an ancient tune. I turned my head and he strode through the gate just as he had done that first day, colorfully dressed, wearing his long golden earrings. I thought him more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen. A young hunting falcon, still in adolescent plumage, was perched on his forearm. Oromedon smiled at me, like a glimpse of sunlight, then beckoned.

He began to climb up over the wall, heedless of the danger. "But I can't leave," I cried. He looked down at me and then continued his ascent and I had no choice but to follow. I jumped up and caught a woody vine, the smell of the roses pungent in my nostrils. The thorns shredded my hands, but I had become numb. We climbed.

Then we were standing high on top of the wall with all Susa spread far below us. Perched on the distant hill, the Great Palace with its white walls, stairs, and immense winged bulls shimmered like a mirage in the golden light.

"Do you see it?" he asked.

"See what, Meddi?"

With a quick, upward sweep of his arm he cast the falcon into the air. At first it struggled. Then, borne aloft on a warm current, it extended its wings and soared. He turned to look at me with a sad smile. Grasping my hand, he cried. "Jump!" And suddenly there was nothing under my feet.

**********************  
I awoke to a soft touch on my arm and the sound of a throat clearing. My eyes fluttered open and there was the Egyptian slave, Seneb, leaning over me. I flinched away and so did he, his arm raised as if to ward off a blow.

"You cry out," he stated.

"Did I? What are you doing here?"

"Nothing. I brought breakfast. There on table."

I was lying on the floor slumped against the foot of the bed with the sheets wrapped around me. Early morning light came through the windows. I groaned and tried to move my stiff limbs. My cheek hurt where my earring had dug in. The bracelets on my wrists clacked together.

"Majeed called away to other duties. Said to bring breakfast. I obey."

"That's fine." I ran a hand across my face and looked around. The room was a mess. I had better clean it up quickly before Oromedon got there.

I reached out to Seneb. "Help me up."

His hand was warm as he pulled me abruptly to my feet. He surveyed the room with an amused expression. "For you is bad night?"

"It's not your concern," I said, too harshly.

He shrugged and started to leave. "Wait, Seneb." He turned, his expression closed. "Would you help me to clean this up?"

He hesitated.

"Please. I don't want trouble."

"Majeed will be angry," he warned. "Good dishes ruined."

"I lost my temper," I said. "It was a mistake."

"Not permitted temper. Slaves not to feel anything, so they say."

"We both know that's not so," I said and met Seneb's eyes.

He nodded slowly. "I'll get broom," he said. "We can put dishes down privy. Maybe he is not notice." He left.

I hastily shook out the sheets and remade the bed. Seneb returned shortly and began sweeping up the broken crockery. I knelt beside him, gingerly picking up pieces of the wine flagon. "I'd better hurry before Oromedon gets here," I said.

"Not need to hurry. He to be late."

I stopped and looked at him. "How do you know?"

"Majeed say he summoned to see Chief Eunuch, Boubakes."

"Why?"

Seneb looked at me from under lowered eyelids. "There's talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes, they say he take too long with you. They want to know why."

"Oh. Oromedon said he wants to present me flawless to the Master. I must have needed a lot of work." I laughed as if to make light of it.

"Perhaps Oromedon, he like his job too much," Seneb suggested, with a show of teeth.

I shook my head, but in my heart the truth of his words rang clearly, sweeping away the dregs of last night's anger. It was Oromedon who had taught me to read a man's feelings through his body. I had spent nine days studying him intimately and in that time I'd come to know him. He loved me, just as I loved him. His every action proclaimed it. If he was taking overly long to train me, it was because he didn't want to let go.

We finished cleaning and straightening in silence and together took the broken dishes out to the garden and dumped them down the privy. The day was already beginning to turn hot and it felt good to escape back into the cool house. Seneb bowed slightly and started to leave.

"Seneb, wait. I am sorry about . . . about what happened five nights ago. Perhaps, if I were free to do as I pleased, well maybe it would have been different . . ." I looked down at the narrow silver and carved cedarwood bracelets adorning my wrists, a remnant of my former life. I thought about giving him a silver one, then realized that he might be accused of stealing it. I twisted off both wooden ones and held them out. "Here, I want you to have these."

He looked startled and then a slight smile flickered across his lips. Taking the bracelets, he slid them onto his wrists and then turned them around admiring them. "Bagoas, may your name be well remembered." He bowed low and left.

I washed my face and retouched my eyes until the mirror told me I was presentable. Then I sat at the table and picked at the food. I felt like a foolish child. So much for the old soul who understood the ways of the world. I couldn't help my jealousy; I still wanted to see Oromedon's lover writhing at my feet like a dog, but I understood. What else was Oromedon to do after he'd fallen from our Master's favor? He was a survivor, just like me. How could I have been so ungrateful for everything he had done for me? It had been dangerous for him to fall in love with his pupil, destined for another man's bed, and now it had caused him trouble. I needed to stop hanging onto him and allow him to go back to his life. When I had finally finished berating myself, I sat contritely on the cushions waiting for him, a different person than I'd been last night.

I must have dozed off as my head jerked upright when I heard the door open. Oromedon entered, cheerful as always, but I could tell the cheerfulness was forced. There was tension around his eyes. Looking at his beautiful face, I thought my heart would break. He came over and gave me a quick kiss.

I rose and looked out of the door. "Where is Kaveh?"

"No riding lesson today," he said briskly and then clapped his hands, "Come now, time to show me what you've learned so far. This is serious, Bagoas. Treat me just as you would our Master."

I served him the rest of the breakfast, stepping quietly into the background while he ate until I noticed that he was about to want something. Then I brought it to his hand before he asked. When he finished, he nodded approval. We went over to the great canopied bed, in which I'd spent so many pleasant hours with him, and went through the same ritualized procedure with the disrobing. I was careful to be a credit to him and do everything as well as I could. When he was in between the sheets, I bowed as if to leave but he raised his hand to his chin and made a small beckoning gesture. I slipped out of my clothes, leaving them neatly folded on the stool and walked up to him, feeling my heart pounding with the strangeness of it. He opened the bed and I climbed in and settled onto his lap with my eyes lowered. "What would you have, Master?" I asked.

"I want you to please me," he said.

I began to work on him, first shyly, giving him a little kiss and then when he opened his mouth, pressing forward purposefully as if I were eager for him. His hands fondled me everywhere as I rocked in his lap. From there we progressed in a strangely formal dance in which I reinvented all the moves I'd learned. He didn't say much, just indicated what he wanted with little gestures and movements of his body. Slowly, he relaxed and let me lead, responding to my ministrations with increasing sighs of pleasure. I teased him up hard with my hands and mouth, bringing him almost to completion and then stopping it with a firm grip. He said in a strained voice, "Yes, Bagoas, that's good. You may finish it." I straddled his loins again and holding him upright, slowly lowered myself upon him. He exhaled sharply, and I moved up and down with a rolling twist of my hips, slowly building the tempo until I was riding him hard and he began to tremble beneath me. Then his whole body tensed, his eyes closed, and he gasped out a cry. I felt him shudder his release. I stayed in position until he stilled his final jerks, then tumbled down beside him.

He pulled me to his chest where we remained for a time. When I started to move away, his grip became tighter. Finally I said, "Meddi, was it acceptable?"

"More than acceptable. You are perfect. _I don't think, Gazelle Eyes, you have very much more to learn."_ His voice quavered a little.

However much I had thought I was prepared for this moment, it was still like an unexpected blow. "No more? It can't be. There must be more." I could feel a lump rising to my throat and the words burst forth as if I were a child begging to be lifted into my father's arms. "Is it over, then? You will leave now? Don't you love me, Meddi? Won't you be sorry when I'm gone?"

"You must never say that to our master," he warned. "It is not your place."

I grasped him by the shoulders and shook him. "Stop being my teacher for a moment! Be my friend and lover. Tell me that you love me, Oromedon! Tell me, I must hear it!"

"I didn't teach you to break hearts." He brushed his fingers over my cheek, his eyes bright. "Yes, I love you and I shall grieve when you have gone. That's the truth of the matter, as much good as it does either of us."

I grasped his face and kissed him with all the feeling I had. He twined his fingers in my hair and said,_ "Then comes tomorrow. I would be a fool to make you pledges; I may never see you again. If I do, maybe I cannot speak to you, and then you would think me false. I promised not to lie to you. When we serve the great, they are our destiny."_ He sat up and pulled his hair back from his forehead revealing the jagged scar. "Did you notice this?"

"Yes, " I said. "They said you were thrown off your horse during a hunt."

"Indeed, during a hunt. We were driving a boar toward our master, who likes to make the kill himself. He threw his javelin and missed and the boar came straight at him, so I rode Kaveh between them to block the beast's charge. The boar turned, gashing Kaveh's leg, and he reared and threw me. This was the result."

"And so he put you aside! It is unfair, Oromedon. _I would love you if you were covered with scars all over."_

He laughed ruefully. "You would, but I'm afraid that's not so with him. He demands perfection. And now I am flawed, belonging no more with the _perfect vase and the polished gem._ So, be careful of your exquisite looks, Gazelle Eyes."

I nodded.

"Well, there is one more lesson, after all." He smiled enigmatically.

"What is that?"

"I must show you the proper motions of the prostration."

"The prostration? But that is done for the King?"

"Indeed, yes. So now you know."

The puzzle pieces clicked together and I felt a fool for not having guessed. But how could I? The Great King! It wasn't possible. I had been taught to revere him as a god, untouchable by someone as unworthy as me. How could I do any of the things Oromedon had taught me ‑ to a King? Fear engulfed me and I burst into tears. "Oromedon, no! _I can't do it. I can't, I can't."_

"What are you saying? After all my effort? Of course you can. He's just a man after all."

Wracked with sobs, I pressed my face against his chest.

"What is this now?" he asked in a soothing voice while he stroked my back. "Why do you mourn when you should be rejoicing at your good fortune? Listen, Beautiful, you have an important task. He has suffered defeat and loss at the hands of the Greeks. Alexander holds captive his Queen, whom he truly loves. You can help ease his trouble. You will be quite suitable; believe what I say. Who knows better than I?"

"You've given me hints all along; I should have guessed," I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. Two darkened smudges appeared on the sheets, twins to the ones I'd left the previous night.

"I have more I could tell you, about his particular likes and dislikes. Perhaps I should stay the night?"

"Wouldn't that anger your lover, Tooraj?"

He startled so badly that it was almost comical. "How did you know?"

"I followed you last night. I didn't intend to. I thought at first he was attacking you, but then I saw it wasn't so."

"I can imagine. Were you angry afterwards?"

"Yes, I'm afraid the dishes suffered as a result."

"You must understand . . ."

I put my hand on his mouth. "I don't want to hear anything. I do understand, even though I don't like it."

"Do you still believe that I love you?"

"Yes. I do. He's not worthy of you, you know."

He smiled while smoothing my hair away from my face. "Ah well, he does have certain talents and I think he loves me, though it scares him."

"Would he be angry if you stayed the night?"

"Most likely."

"Well, I've managed all these nights alone. I think I can do it again. I would like it though, if you could remain until dusk, as you usually do."

"I can do that." He kissed my brow. I thought my heart would burst.

"Meddi, I think I shall never love anyone again."

He looked into my eyes. "I have learned that nothing in life remains static. Fortunes change unexpectedly, sometimes with a simple cast of the dice. You are young, Bagoas. Remain open to possibilities and you may yet find your heart's desire."

"Will you do something for me?"

"What is that, Beautiful?"

"Make love to me ‑ without any more lessons. Just the two of us together as if we really were lovers with all the time in the world."

He smiled and reached for me, enclosing me in the warm circle of his arms. We clung together, using no art but that which flows naturally from the soul's longing. Each touch, each kiss were made all the more poignant knowing they would be our last. And at the end he gave a great sigh and released me, like a nestling urged into flight.

 

The End


End file.
